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A 

CHURCH  YARD^ 
STORY 


BY 


B.    CARRADINE 

Author  of 
Pen  Picturei,"  "Pastortl  Sktiches,"  "Remarkable  Occurrences,"  etc.,  etc. 


t 


CHICAGO 

M.  A.  DONOHUE  ^  CO. 

407-429  Dearborn  Street 


Copyright,    I90<,   by 
B.   CARRADINE 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A  Church  Yard  Story 7 

The  Ballantynes        77 

A  Strange  Homestead 123 

Judge  Dalrymple 155 

The  Two  Cronies 207 


1821031 


PREFACE. 


These  stories  were  written  several  years  ago  by 
the  author  partly  for  mental  recreation,  and  part- 
ly in  loving  remembrance  of  his  native  State,  the 
great  Commonwealth  of  Mississippi. 

The  sites  of  the  stories  are  laid  in  four  coun- 
ties of  the  State ;  fully  as  many  social  planes  of  the 
people  are  made  to  appear  in  the  narratives; 
while  characters,  dialects,  customs  and  conditions, 
both  of  the  past  and  present,  are  preserved  in  a 
form  that  we  believe  the  reader  will  heartily  ap- 
prove and  enjoy. 

The  writer,  though  now  living  in  a  far  distant 
city  from  the  place  of  his  birth,  yet  cannot  forget 
nor  cease  to  value,  the  land  and  home  of  such  men 
as  Jefferson  Davis,  S.  S.  Prentiss,  Walker  Brooke, 
L.  Q.  C.  Lamar,  W.  P.  Harris,  C.  K.  Marshall, 
Chas.  B.  Galloway,  Robert  Lowry,  J.  S.  Williams 
and  a  perfect  constellation  besides  of  brilliant 
men  and  women  who  have  made  their  own  State 
famous  as  well  as  themselves  immortal  by  words 
and  deeds  that  are  monumental  and  imperish- 
able. 

It  is  with  a  pardonable  pride,  then,  and  an  abid- 
ing affection  that  this  volume  is  dedicated  to  the 
people  of  Mississippi  by  the 

Author. 

St.  Louis,  Mo.,  May,  1904. 


A  CHURCH  YARD  STORY 


A  Church  Yard  Story 


A  few  years  ago,  one  afternoon  in  May,  I  was 
riding  on  horseback  through  a  portion  of  the  State 
of  Mississippi,  that  before  the  war  was  considered 
one  of  its  garden  spots.  I  was  directing  my  course 
to  the  town  of  Medfield,  the  center  of  this  formerly 
rich  and  cultivated  region.  I  had  heard  when  a 
boy  of  the  great  plantations  of  this  county,  with 
their  billowy  crops  of  com  and  cotton ;  of  the  pa- 
latial homes  situated  in  noble  groves,  and  visible 
miles  away ;  and  of  the  finely  kept  roads  bordered 
with  the  beautiful  Cherokee  hedge,  which  trav- 
ersed the  country  in  every  direction. 

Here  I  was  at  last  in  this  famous  region;  but 
seen  under  such  changed  conditions  that  the  eyes 
grew  misty,  and  the  heart  melancholy  with  the 
contrast.  The  noble  old  Southern  mansions  were 
either  in  ruins,  partly  occupied,  or  shut  up  entire- 
ly, while  an  unkempt  air  manifest,  even  from  the 
road,  declared  the  absence  or  death  of  the  former 
owners.  The  fields  stretching  on  all  sides  to  dis- 
tant lines  of  timber  were  washed  into  great  gullies 
and  covered  with  yellow  sedge.    Partition  fences, 

9 


10  A  Church  Yard  Story 


in  most  instances,  were  gone,  and  though  the  road 
still  boasted  some  of  the  luxuriance  of  the  hedge, 
yet  it  did  so  in  a  ragged  and  broken  way,  while 
the  frequent  gaps  were  filled  with  mouldy  looking 
rails ;  and  now  and  then  a  tottering  gate  was  seen 
propped  up  in  various  ways  for  the  protection  of 
those  portions  of  the  fields  which  happened  to  be 
under  cultivation. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  I  was 
eight  miles  from  Medfield  when  I  observed  a  heavy 
thunder  shower  approaching.  Taking  in  the 
breadth  of  the  cloud  and  its  nearness,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  in  my  umbrellaless  condition  a  drench- 
ing was  inevitable  unless  cover  could  speedily  be 
found.  The  nearest  house  was  over  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  ahead.  It  was  one  of  the  old  Southern  homes, 
large  and  imposing,  and  situated  on  a  swell  of 
ground.  It  was  literally  buried  in  the  heart  of 
what  was  once  a  beautiful  grove,  but  through  neg- 
lect had  become  a  tangled  woodland.  The  house- 
top and  a  portion  of  the  portico  with  its  large  pil- 
lars could  be  seen  from  the  road,  but  I  saw  the 
rain  would  be  upon  me  before  I  could  gain  its 
shelter. 

I  was  just  reconciling  my  mind  to  the  thought  of 
exposure  to  the  weather,  when  the  eye  took  in 
another  grove,  and  just  appearing  over  the  tops 
of  the  trees,  the  Gothic  roof  and  upper  brick  walls 


A  Church  Yard  Story  11 


of  what  seemed  to  be  a  church.  Leaping  my  horse 
over  a  low  part  of  the  fence,  I  galloped  swiftly- 
through  the  woodland  in  the  direction  of  the  build- 
ing. It  proved  to  be  a  small  brick  chapel,  once 
quite  handsome,  but  now  in  ruins.  Elding  my 
horse  into  a  kind  of  outer  vestibule  which  prom- 
ised protection,  I  had  just  done  so  when  the  stomi 
burst  forth  in  a  perfect  fury.  I  was  in  a  measure 
sheltered  from  the  downpour,  though  the  wind 
would  bring  in,  occasionally,  considerable  spray 
from  its  lateral  sweeps.  For  quite  a  while  I  stood 
listening  to  the  crashing  thunder,  watching  the 
slanting  lines  of  rain  and  the  tossing  branches  of 
the  trees.  Finally,  hitching  my  horse  to  a  brick 
pillar,  I  walked  into  the  church  proper,  and  noted 
with  a  glance  its  complete  desolation.  I  learned 
afterwards  that  the  building  was  not  over  fifty 
years  old,  though  it  looked  a  thousand  that  after- 
noon. The  walls  were  cracked,  the  roof  was 
broken  in  at  places,  the  narrow  diamond  shaped 
windows  were  gone,  and  through  the  apertures  I 
could  see  some  granite  and  marble  shafts,  with 
bowing  and  swaying  cedars  among  them ;  and  fur- 
ther still,  the  great  branches  of  oaks  and  elms 
twisting  and  wringing  themselves  as  if  in  mortal 
grief.  The  occasional  flash  of  lightning,  and  the 
attendant  crash  of  thunder,  filling  the  empty  edi- 
fice with  startling  echoes,  intensified  the  solemnity 


12  A  Church  Yard  Story 

of  the  scene,  so  that  it  was  with  a  sense  of  relief 
that  I  went  back  to  the  outer  porch  and  the  com- 
panionship of  my  horse. 

In  twenty  minutes  the  cloud  passed  away,  the 
rain  ceased,  and  the  low  growl  of  thunder  in  the 
distance  showed  the  storm  was  over.  The  slant- 
ing beams  of  the  evening  sun  began  to  strike 
through  the  thick  foliage  of  the  grove,  while  the 
little  sighs  of  the  almost  spent  wind  shook  off  the 
raindrops  from  the  green  leaves  to  fall  with  soft 
patter  upon  the  brown  carpet  and  odorous  turf 
made  by  the  leaf  deposits  of  other  seasons. 

Leading  my  horse  to  a  broken  down  fence  in 
front  of  the  church,  I  returned  to  explore  the  small 
burial  ground  which  I  had  seen  through  the  win- 
dows in  the  rear  of  the  church.  From  boyhood,  a 
graveyard  has  always  possessed  for  me  a  peculiar 
fascination. 

I  discovered  that  it  was  a  private  cemetery; 
and  while  there  were  different  names  on  the  pil- 
lars and  vaults,  yet  they  were  easily  recognized 
as  family  connections,  and  the  distinguishing  one 
was  Dabney. 

While  looking  upon  the  weather  stained  shafts, 
untrimmed  shrubbery,  and  green  moss  covering  a 
number  of  the  graves  and  stone  slabs,  my  eyes 
suddenly  fell  on  a  tomb  in  a  corner  of  the  grave- 
yard which  at  once  arrested  my  attention.    The 


A  Church  Yard  Story  13 

crypt  was  of  marble  and  even  with  the  ground. 
At  each  corner  was  an  um  several  feet  in  height 
of  the  same  material.  At  the  side  of  the  grave 
was  an  iron  chair,  and  in  front  of  it  was  a  small 
square  of  granite.  The  soil  of  the  yard  had  by 
rains  encroached  upon  the  upper  portion  of  the 
sepulcher;  one  of  the  urns  had  been  pushed  over 
by  the  projecting  lower  branches  of  a  cedar,  and 
the  iron  chair  was  iiisty  from  its  long  exposure  to 
the  elements. 

It  would  be  hard  to  explain,  but  the  strangest 
influence  was  at  once  exercised  over  me  by  this 
lonely  tomb  in  the  churchyard.  There  were  other 
neglected  graves,  but  something  about  this  one 
peculiarly  affected  and  moved  me.  There  was  evi- 
dence of  unusual  devotion  to  this  silent  sleeper. 
Some  one  used  to  come  here  and  sit  by  the  side  of 
this  pulseless  and  voiceless  inhabitant  of  the 
ground.  Who  was  it  in  the  grave,  and  who  sat  in 
the  chair!  Was  it  a  man  or  woman,  and  why  had 
the  person  ceased  to  visit  the  place?  Had  the  lone- 
ly watcher  moved  away,  or  had  death  at  last  come 
and  reunited  the  separated  ones? 

These  thoughts  came  quickly  over  me;  and,  with 
a  curiosity,  not  unhallowed  or  vulgar,  but  bora 
of  a  tender  interest  in  the  heart,  I  drew  near  the 
spot  to  read  the  name  of  the  dead.  Finding  that 
the  drifting  dirt  and  green  mold  had  covered  parts 


14  A  Church  Yard  Story 

of  the  inscription  I  took  my  knife,  and  digging 
out  the  earth  from  the  hollow  lettering,  read  the 
following  words : 

Sacred 

TO  THE  MEMORY 

of 

GERALD  FAULKNER, 

BORN 

May  1st,  1833, 

DIED 

June  8th,  1859. 

Aged  26  years,  1  month  and  7  days. 

This  was  all.  Part  of  the  mystery  was  removed, 
but  much  remained  uncleared.  The  form  lying  be- 
neath me  was  that  of  a  young  man,  and  the  name 
was  Faulkner;  but  why  should  a  Faulkner  be  in  a 
burial  ground  belonging  evidently  to  the  Dab- 
neys,  and  who  was  this  lonely  mourner  who 
grieved  over  him?  Was  it  wife,  sister,  or 
friend?  AVhat  had  become  of  the  being  who  had 
kept  such  faithful  vigil  over  the  dead,  and  to  what 
part  of  the  world  had  the  stricken  one  drifted? 
Then  other  thoughts  came  up.  Had  he  been  for- 
gotten, or  had  some  distant  cemetery  received  the 
form  of  the  lonely  watcher? 

The  place  so  affected  and  held  me  that  it  was 


A  Church  Yard  Story  15 

W^^^»^^*^^  ■■'     '"^  ■■■■I.  ■   ■■       I  ■■■  II  I  I     „ 

with  difficulty  I  could  tear  myself  away;  but  glanc- 
ing at  my  watch  and  observing  that  it  was  nearly 
four  0  'clock,  I  turned,  and  came  round  in  front  of 
the  ruined  church  to  the  place  where  my  horse 
was  fastened.  The  note  of  a  blue  jay  sounded 
from  the  depths  of  the  grove,  while  from  far  over- 
head came  the  caw  of  a  crow  as  he  floated  over 
the  fields  toward  his  nest  or  roost  in  the  forest,  sev- 
eral miles  distant. 

I  was  about  to  mount  my  horse  when  I  heard 
the  voice  of  a  negro  man  singing  in  the  distance. 
He  was  between  me  and  the  road  I  had  left,  and 
was  evidently  entering  the  edge  of  the  grove.  The 
voice  was  full  and  rich  and  had  the  tremulous 
note  in  it  for  which  the  negro  is  famous.  The  song 
was  one  of  those  weird,  plaintive  hymns  that  are 
so  often  sung  by  the  negroes  of  the  South.  The 
singer  at  first  was  out  of  sight,  but  in  a  minute  or 
so  appeared,  coming  up  the  path  which  led  in 
front  of  the  church.  When  he  was  about  thirty 
yards  off  I  cried  out, 

''Hello!" 

He  stopped  and  turned  his  face,  not  exactly  in 
my  direction,  and  answered: 

''Whodatcallin'me?" 

"It's  me,"  I  replied. 

''Who's  me,  I  lak  ter  know,"  was  the  sturdy  re- 
sponse as  the  man  now  fully  confronted  me. 


16  A  Church  Yard  Story 


''It's  me,  Uncle,"  I  said,  ''come  this  way." 
"Whut  mek  you  call  me  Uncle?  I  ain't  yoh 
Uncle." 
"Well,  come  here  anyhow.  I  want  to  see  you." 
The  negro  had  rested  both  his  hands  on  his 
white  oak  walking  stick  and  was  staring  fixedly  at 
me.  Evidently  something  in  my  appearance  and 
words  disarmed  him  of  suspicion,  and  leaving  the 
path,  he  came  pushing  his  way  through  the  under- 
brush, the  twigs  snapping  under  his  feet  as  he  ap- 
proached, and  finally  stood  before  me.  He  seemed 
to  be  about  sixty  years  old,  though  he  may  have 
been  older.  His  hair,  eyebrows,  and  beard  were 
gray,  the  hat  which  he  held  in  his  hand  was  limp 
and  full  of  holes,  while  coat,  he  had  none.  His 
coarse  shirt  of  Lowells,  once  white,  but  now  brown 
from  much  use,  was  open  from  the  neck  half  way 
down  the  chest,  revealing  a  triangle  of  black  skin. 
His  trousers,  made  of  some  coarse  heavy  goods  of 
grayish  tint,  had  patches  of  several  different 
colors.  Yet  with  all  these  signs  of  poverty,  the 
face  was  a  good  one,  showing  kindliness  of  heart 
and  character. 

"I  thought,"  said  I,  with  a  reassuring  smile, 
"that  you  would  not  mind  coming  a  few  yards  to 
get  a  plug  of  tobacco  for  answering  a  few  ques- 
.tions." 

The  black  face  instantly  lighted  up  with   a 


A  Church   Yard  Story  17 

gleam  of  pleasure  as  he  said  with  great  hearti- 
ness: 

''Dat  I  don't,  Boss.  You  dun  hit  me  a  center 
lick,  shore";  and  then  followed  that  rich  African 
laugh,  "  kee-yaw-yaw, "  which,  once  heard,  can 
never  be  forgotten. 

I  handed  him  the  half  plug,  which  I  never  used 
myself,  but  often  in  my  rides  through  the  country 
carried  with  me  to  obtain  small  favors  of  the  col- 
ored people  in  opening  gates,  showing  me  over 
unknown  fields,  creeks,  etc.  He  took  the  tobacco, 
turned  it  over  several  times,  smelled  it  on  both 
sides  with  evident  satisfaction,  and  said: 

*'Well,  I  'clare  to  gracious,  I  wuz  jes'  wishin' 
fur  sum  er  dis  same  ole  Virginny. ' ' 

"What  is  your  name.  Uncle?" 

This  time  the  man  took  no  offense  at  the  word 
"Uncle."  I  could  easily  see  I  had  advanced  in 
his  favor  and  confidence,  with  my  Southern  ac- 
cent, and  manner  of  giving. 

"]\[ah  name's  Pompey,  suh;  Pompey  Dabney. 
Sometimes  when  folks  is  in  er  hun\v  dey  calls  me 
Pomp.  I  b'long'd  ter  de  Dabneys,  suh,  foh  de 
Wah." 

"They  were  an  old  Mississippi  family,  I  be- 
liever' 

"Yes,  suh ;  but  dey  come  f 'um  ole  Virginny  hyer 
an'  brung  all  dey  niggers  wid  'em  'bout  de  time 


18  A  Church  Yard  Story 

de  stars  fell.  Mali  Mammy  wuz  in  er  wagon  sleep 
when  she  riz  up  an'  seed  'em  shoot  an'  drap." 

*'I  suppose,"  said  I,  "that  the  Dabneys  were 
very  rich." 

' '  Law,  chile,  cream  wamt  no  whar  ter  dem,  dey 
wuz  dat  rich.  Dey  had  foh  plantations,— one  on 
de  'Azoo  River,  an'  one  on  Silver  Krik,  an'  one 
down  in  Luzanny,  an'  den  de  home  place  hyer  in 
de  hills.  You  mus '  er  seed  de  house  up  dah  on  de 
rise  o '  de  groun '  foh  yer  turns  in  hyer. ' ' 

I  replied  that  I  had  seen  the  house  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  then  said: 

'  *  I  heard  of  the  Dabneys  when  I  was  a  boy.  I 
wish  you  would  tell  me  a  little  about  them; 
whether  they  are  living,  and  if  so,  what  has  be- 
come of  them.  Then  just  before  I  saw  you  I  was 
in  the  little  church  to  escape  the  rain,  and  won- 
dered who  had  built  it." 

"De  Dabneys,  dey  built  it,  suh.  Dey  was  Pis- 
kolopyuns  an'  dey  sont  off  fur  a  preacher,  an'  sot 
him  up  hyer  jes'  fur  dey  own  se'ves;  an'  dat 
church  is  a  Piskolopyun  church,  suh." 

"But  this  is  not  all  I  wish  to  know,"  I  resumed. 
"Just  back  of  the  church  in  that  burial  ground 
yonder,  there  is  a  tomb  with  an  iron  chair  by  its 
side.  Can  you  tell  me  anything  about  it,  and  why 
a  person  named  Faulkner  should  be  buried  in  the 
Dabney  graveyard;  and  who  used  to  sit  in  that 


A  Church  Yard  Story  19 

iron  chair;  and  why  is  it  that  the  grave  is  now  so 
neglected  f ' ' 

*'  'Deed  I  kin,  suh,  an'  dah  ain't  no  nigger  in 
dis  whole  country  knows  as  much  as  me  'bouten 
whut  youse  axen.  Nigh  onter  all  de  ole  kullud 
folks  is  daid;  an'  de  young  niggers,  suh,  dun  all 
gone  ter  Medfield  ter  live,  or,  you  better  say,  ter 
stance.  Dey  doan  know  nuffiu  'tall  'bout  de  qual- 
ity times  we  had  foh  de  Wah." 

**It  was  in  the  hope  that  you  could  tell  me  these 
things  that  I  called  you,  and  if  you  will  do  so  I'll 
give  you  something  better  than  a  plug  of  tobacco." 

In  reply  to  this,  Pompey,  with  a  chuckle,  sat 
down  upon  the  lower  step  of  an  old  horse  block; 
and  now,  with  both  hands  around  his  stick,  and 
now  laying  it  in  his  lap  while  gesticulating,  he 
thus  delivered  himself: 

''Yes,  suh,  all  de  Dabneys  is  daid  'cep'n  me  an' 
some  neffers  an'  neeces  I  nuvver  seed.  Ole  Mahster 
died  de  ye'r— lemme  see— de  ye'r  I  had  de  ruma- 
tiz  so  bad— oh  yes— six  ye'r  foh  de  Wah.  Dat  lef ' 
Ole  Mistis  an'  Miss  Cora  in  de  big  house  up  dah. 
I  tell  you  dat  house  wus  er  house  sho  'nough.  Dey 
use  to  hev'  big  gwines  on  up  dah  in  Old  Mahster 's 
time.  Folks  come  f 'um  Virginny  an'  eve'ywhar, 
an'  spen'  a  mont'  at  a  time,  an'  I  tell  yer  it  kep' 
us  niggers  on  de  jump.  Den  arter  he  died  Ole 
Miss'  tuk  Miss  Cora  off  to  school  up  Norf  som'ers, 


20  A  Church   Yard  Story 

an'  den  dey  trabel  in  Europe  er  while.  An'  when 
dey  come  home  at  las'  dey  done  been  gone  five 
year,  an'  Miss  Cora,  whut  wuz  a  gal  when  she  lef , 
come  back  a  growed  np  woman.  An',  my  sakes, 
de  young  gemmuns  wuz  mos '  crazy  'bouten  her. ' ' 

"I  heard,"  interrupted  I,  "that  she  was  a  very 
beautiful  girl." 

''Mun  alive,"  exclaimed  the  old  darkey,  thrust- 
ing his  stick  repeatedly  into  the  soft  ground  in 
giving  emphasis  to  his  words,  ' '  nobody  could  hoi ' 
a  candle  to  her.  She  walk  lak  she  'spise  de  groun'. 
She  put  all  de  urrer  young  ladies  'bout  hyer  plum 
in  de  shade,  an'  she  flung  de  young  gemmun  sky 
high.  Judge  Seymour's  son,  he  try  to  ketch  her, 
an'  played  de  guitar  o'  nights  under  her  winder; 
but  shoo!  she  jes'  laugh  at  him  an'  he  tuk  sick  an' 
lak  to  died.  Den  Ginnul  Sinclair's  brudder,  him 
as  wuz  a  Major  in  de  rig'lar  army,  hyer  he  come 
along  wid  his  shoulder  straps  an'  brass  buttons 
an'  mustache  an'  goatee;  but  he  couldn'  do  nuffin 
'tall  wid  Miss  Cora.  He  jes'  wamt  no  whar  an' 
she  sont  him  flyin'  'long  wid  de  res'. 

''One  day  she  wuz  out  ridin'  wid  him  an'  as  dey 
wuz  gallopin'  'long  de  lane  jes'  out  dah,  her  comb 
drapped  out,  an'  her  long  black  hair  fell  down 
all  roun'  her.  Den  she  look  at  him  a  laughin'  wid 
her  cheeks  all  red,  an'  her  black  eyes  a  shinin'— 
an'  I  'clare  fob  de  Lawd,  dat  man  look  lak  he 


A  Church  Yard  Story  21 

gwine  to  hev  a  fit.  He  jes'  couldn'  scacely  'have 
hisse'f." 

"How  do  you  know  all  this?" 

''How'd  I  know?  Lor'  bless  yer,  I  wuz  Ole 
Malister's  body  suvvant  two  year;  an'  arter  dey 
come  back  fum  Europe  dey  tuk  me  outen  de  field 
an'  'stalled  me  in  de  house  ag'in,  to  wait  on  'em 
an'  do  de  'sponsibilities  de  urrer  niggers  couldn' 
do.  So  w  'en  Miss  Cora  rid  out  on  dat  sknimshus 
bay  mahr  o'  hem,  I  allers  went  along  on  de  big 
roan  to  take  keer  o'  her.  An'  so  dat  day  w'en  de 
comb  fell  on  de  groun',  Major  Sinclair  he  flung 
hisse'f  offen  his  boss  quicker'n  light'nin',  grabbed 
it  up  an'  put  it  in  his  breas'  pocket  an'  turned  up 
his  eyes  at  Miss  Cora  lak  a  sick  duck.  I  sholy 
thought  Miss  Cora  would  drap  offen  her  boss  a 
laughin'.    Bymby  she  say  to  him, 

•'  'Major  Sinclair,  please  gimme  mah  comb.' 

"But  he  'lowed  he'd  ruther  die  'an  do  it.  Den 
Miss  Cora  turn  ter  me  an'  say,  'Pompey,  go  an' 
cut  me  a  long  thawn  offen  dat  tree.'  An'  I  done 
it,  an'  fethched  her  er  fine  slick  one  mos'  six  inches 
long.  When  T  retched  de  thawn  to  her,  de  Major 
he  hilt  back  lak  he  skeered  ^liss  Cora  gwine  to 
gouge  him  wid  it.  But  she  put  it  krost-ways  in 
her  mouf,  an'  tuk  her  long  hair  in  her  ban's  and 
twis'  it  up  in  er  big  knot  behin'.  Den  she  tuk  de 
thawn  outen  her  mouf  an'  stuck  it  in  de  knot,  an' 


22  A  Church  Yard  Story 

I  tell  you,  it  hilt  it.  Nex '  thing,  she  cluck  ter  her 
hoss  an'  gallop  up  de  road  wid  de  Major  arter  her. 
Well,  suh,  you  think  dat  man  when  he  hope  Miss 
Cora  off  at  de  hoss-block,  didn't  ax  her  fur  dat 
thawn?    Den  I  hyer  Miss  Cora  say  ter  him— 

'*  'Major  Sinclair,  hit  looks  to  me  lak  you  want 
all  I  got!" 

*'I  wuz  'hin'  de  roan  makin'  out  lak  I  wuz 
bucklin'  a  strap  w'en  I  hyerd  her  say  dat.  Den 
I  say  to  myse'f,  'Yes,  Lawd,  she  done  tole  de 
Gawd's  truf ;  dat  man  wants  all  we  niggers  'sides 
Miss  Cora.' 

"Pears  dat  vahy  night  he  got  Miss  Cora  orf  in 
de  consuvvatory  'mungst  de  palmetters  an'  ole- 
yanders,  whar  dey  couldn'  see  him  fum  de  parlor. 
I  wuz  by  de  glass  doh  whut  leads  outen  to  de  yard, 
a  stoppin'  'hind  some  flowers,  w'en  I  see  Major 
Sinclair  git  down  on  one  knee  an'  say  sumpin'. 
Den  I  hyer  Miss  Cora  say, 

''  'Major  Sinclair,  please  don'  be  so  reediker- 
lus',— an'  de  Major  he  grab  her  han'  an'  say, 

"  'Miss  Dabney,  I  love  you  wid  all  my  heart,— 
I'se  gwine  plum  'stracted  'bout  you.'  Den  he  up 
an'  ax  her  to  mahy  him;  an'  Miss  Cora,  she  pull 
her  han'  away  suddint,  an'  drawin'  herse'f  up 
straight,  she  sayd, 

"  'Major  Sinclair,  de  case  is  hopeless— I  kin 
nuvver  mahy  you. ' 


A  Church  Yard  Story  23 

"Wen  I  hyer  dat  fur,  I  slip  outen  de  consuv- 
vatory  an'  sot  on  de  aige  o'  de  peazzy  a  thinkin'. 
Bymby,  word  come  to  me  to  hev  de  Major's  hoss 
bmng  out.  So  I  walks  down  to  de  lot  an'  tells 
Joe  to  fotch  Major  Sinclair's  boss  up,  dat  he's 
done  had  a  onexpected  call  home  an'  is  desput 
anxious  to  git  dah  at  once.  So  Joe,  he  tuk  de  hoss 
up  an'  I  gits  in  de  shadder  uv  a  big  ole  poplar  by 
de  lot  fence,  an'  looks  out  fur  de  Major.  Pres'ny, 
hyer  he  comes  down  de  road,  a  clipperty-clip- 
perty,  wid  his  cow  hide  a  fallin'  on  his  black  hoss, 
an'  he  a  puffin'  an'  a  blowin'  an'  a  cussin'  till  he 
'minst  me  uv  a  steam  ingine  on  de  rail  road.  He 
jes'  whiz  pas'  me  on  dat  hoss  lak  a  comet,  an'  I 
sot  down  on  de  grass,  an'  I  sho  laughed. 

' '  It  all  'minst  me  er  how  I  courted  Dinah.  Dinah, 
you  know,  wuz  Miss  Cora's  maid,  an'  wuz  as  lakly 
a  yaller  gal  as  ever  slink  a  foot  over  a  puncheon 
floh.  Well,  suh,  I  got  powful  sot  on  Dinah,  an' 
got  to  mopin'  aroun'  and  couldn'  eat  no  victuals 
o'  no  kin',  I  wuz  dat  bad  off.  I  look  so  mournful 
dat  Dinah  tol'  me  I  minst  her  of  a  sick  calf  wid  no 
mammy.  Ev'y  time  I  try  to  git  her  in  a  comer 
and  purmulgate  'bout  my  feelins  she  mek  out  she 
hyer  Miss  Cora  callin'  her,  an'  lit  out.  Den  she 
mek  out  she  was  mighty  intrusted  in  a  new  yaller 
nigger,  name  Caesar,  dat  old  Mistis  bought  to  wait 
on  de  dinin'  room.    My!  how  Dinah  did  tek  on  wid 


24  A  Church  Yard  Story 

dat  nigger,  in  special  w'en  I  wuz  round.  On  top 
0 '  dat,  one  day  Miss  Cora  say  to  me,  wid  a  funny 
look  at  Dinah,  'Pompey,  do  you  know  h* story  say 
dat  Caesar  got  ahead  o'  Pompey?"  All  dis  made 
me  feel  mighty  grumptious  an'  I  say  to  myse'f— 
dis  ting  got  to  be  fixed  up  dis  vahy  night. 

**Now  I  done  hyer  Miss  Cora  readin'  to  her  Ma 
at  night  'bout  how  de  fine  gemmun  drap  on  dey 
knees  in  'spressin'  dey  feelin's,  so  dat  night  I 
meets  up  wid  Dinah  at  de  pump  in  de  cistern 
house,  in  de  back  yard.  De  cistern  house  had  lat- 
tice work  all  roun'  it,  an'  de  moonlight  wuz  a 
creepin'  in  sof ',  an'  dah  wuz  Dinah,  lookin'  un- 
common nice,  an'  de  fus'  thing  she  know  I  drapt 
on  one  knee  an'  try  to  put  my  han'  on  my  breas', 
jes'  so;  but  I  speck  I  drap  it  too  low,  so  w'en  I 
sayd, 

**  'I  hev  a  gTeat  pain  fur  you  hyer,  Dinah',  I 
'clare  to  you,  foh  I  could  git  anurrer  word  out, 
dat  nigger  say  to  me,  she  say, 

**  *ls  you  got  a  pain  in  yoh  stummick,  Pompey? 
Mus'  I  run  an'  git  you  some  pahygoricT 

**An'  foh  gracious,  she  up  an'  flung  a  dipper  o' 
water  onto  me  to  bring  me  to,  she  say;  an'  den 
run  in  de  house  a  laughin '. 

''Laws-a-mussy,  wuzn't  I  a  bilin'.  I  jess  went 
roun'  de  big  house  a  puffin'  an'  a  blowin'  an'  a 


A  Church  Yard  Story  25 

r'arin'  lak  Major  Sinclair.  I  tell  you  de  Major 
brung  hit  all  back  to  me. 

''Well  suh,  as  I  went  a  tearjn*  'roun'  de  comer 
o'  de  house  I  come  ker  bang  'ginst  Caesar,  who 
wuzn'  lookin'  fur  me,  an'  I  wuzn'  lookin'  fur  him 
nuther.  But  he  think  I  did  it  on  puppus  an'  I 
thunk  he  did  it  on  puppus,  an'  so  we  clinched  an' 
fell  over  on  de  grass  a  hittin'  an'  a  gougin'.  I  wuz 
all  shuk  up  aforehan'  an'  pow'ful  glad  to  work 
off  some  o'  my  miz'ry  on  somebody,  an'  special 
on  dat  nigger  Caesar.  So  'twarn'  long  'foh  I  had 
him  down  an'  wuz  a  poun'in'  him  good  fashion, 
an'  he  callin'  'nough,  'nough,  w'en  up  went  a 
winder  an'  dar  stood  Miss  Cora  an'  Dinah  hinst 
her,  lookin'  'stonished  at  us. 

"  'Why,  Pompey,'  Miss  Cora  say,  'whut  you 
doin'  to  Caesar?    Ain'  you  'shame  o'  yohse'f?' 

"Den  I  riz  up  off  en  Caesar  an'  axed  her  pardin, 
an' sayd, 

"  'I  speck  Dinah  kin  tell  you  whut's  de  mattah. ' 

"All  de  nex'  day  I  'lowed  we  bofe  gwine  git  a 
lickin'  fum  de  overseer  fur  dat  freekus,  but  Caesar 
couldn'  git  outen  his  baid  an'  didn'  need  anun*er 
whippin';  an'  Miss  Cora  tol'  me  in  de  hall  nex' 
day  dat  I  ought  to  be  whipped,  but  she  done 
thought  it  all  over  an'  as  Caesar  whipped  Pompey 
wunst  it  might  not  hurt  to  let  Pompey  whip  Caesar 


26  A  Church  Yard  Story 

wunst.  Den  she  look  at  Dinah  an'  dey  bofe 
laughed. 

*'I  tell  you,  suh,  I  sutny  riz  in  Dinah's  eyes  w'en 
she  see  me  lick  dat  yaller  nigger  'tliout  gittin'  a 
scratch;  whilst  he  had  one  eye  shot  up,  his  jaw 
all  swelled  up,  an'  eat  spoon  victuals  fur  a  whole 
week  wid  one  side  o'  his  mouf." 

''But,  Pompey,"  I  said,  "all  this  is  very  inter- 
esting; but  you  must  remember  I  want  to  know 
about  the  grave  yonder  in  the  burial  ground." 

*'Sho  'nough,  suh,  sho  'nough.  I'm  a  comin' 
to  it,  suh.  Law,  yes,  honey,  I'm  a  gittin' dar.  You 
know  I  aint  got  no  eddycation.  Miss  Cora  tried 
her  han'  on  me,  to  mek  me  talk  more  proper,  she 
sayd,  but  I  wuz  brung  up  in  de  cotton  patch  and 
cawn  fiel'  an'  got  sot  in  my  ways,  so  Miss  Cora 
gin  up  tryin'.  Dat  yaller  nigger,  Caesar,  could 
talk  mos'  as  good  as  de  white  folks  kase  he  wuz 
brung  up  in  de  big  house.  He  wuz  book  larnt  by 
his  young  Mahster  foh  de  Dabneys  bought  him. 
He  sutny  did  'stonish  me  wid  his  big  words!  Dat 
wuz  one  way  he  try  to  cut  me  outen  Dinah. 

*'Arter  dat  I  tuk  a  fool  notion  to  talk  big  lak 
Caesar.  So  w'en  young  Mister  Carleton  call  to 
see  Miss  Cora,  I  tol'  her: 

**  'Mister  Carleton  inquested  to  pay  his  sibili- 
ties  to  her  pussonality.'  Dat  jes'  whut  he  tol'  me; 
but  w'en  I  tol'  Miss  Helen  she  say: 


A  Church  Yard  Story  27 

"  'Wliatr 

''Den  I  tol'  her  ag'in  an'  she  kivered  her  face 
wid  her  fan,  an'  Dinah  laughed  right  out.  'Pears 
to  me  dat  yaller  gal  wuz  allers  laughin'  at  me.  I 
b'lieve  she  lak  to  show  dem  white  teef  o'  hem. 
But  she  wuz  sutny  a  lakly  lookin'  gal. 

''Well,  I  gin  up  dat  parlor  talk  whut  Caesar 
an'  Dinah  an'  de  white  folks  used,  an'  arter  dat  I 
spress  myse'f  as  I  knowed  how.  So  you  see,  suh, 
I  cain'  trabel  over  de  groun'  lak  a  dog  arter  a 
rabbit  in  spressin'  myse'f;  but,  Law  bless  you,  as  I 
wuz  a  say  in',  I'm  a  gittin'  dar." 

The  old  man  stopped  a  moment,  lifted  his 
ragged  hat,  wiped  his  kinky  gray  hair  reflectively 
with  his  hand  several  times,  cleared  his  throat, 
took  an  easier  position  on  the  old  mouldering 
horse  block,  and  resumed. 

"Well,  suh,  as  I  wuz  a  sayin',  some  o'  Miss 
Cora's  frien's  on  Silver  Crik,  or  de  'Azoo  Eiver, 
writ  fur  her  to  come  an'  spen'  a  mont'  dar.  So  she 
went,  an'  Ole  Miss'  sont  me  along  wid  Miss  Cora 
to  tek  keer  o'  her  tnmks  an'  things,  an'  see  dat 
she  got  dar  safe.  Dinah  wuz  sick  an'  couldn'  go. 
I  tell  you,  dey  couldn'  git  along  widout  Pompey 
in  dem  days.  Hit  wuz  Pompey  dis  an'  Pompey 
dat  all  de  time.  I  made  de  urrer  niggers  stan' 
aroun',  I  tell  you!    Ole  Miss'  trus'  me  wid  ev'y- 


28  A  Church  Yard  Story 

thing,  an'  she  knowed  Miss  Cora  wiiz  plum  safe 
if  I  go  long  wid  her. 

''Well,  suh,  we  druv  to  Medfiel'  an'  tuk  de  rail- 
road eyars  an'  come  to  Vicksbu'g.  Dar  Miss  Cora 
spen'  sev'ral  days  wid  some  o'  her  frien's  an' 
'quaintances  'foh  she  tuk  de  boat  up  de  'Azoo 
River.  One  day  Miss  Cora  sont  me  up  town  fur 
sumpin'  an'  I  lak  to  git  los'  'mungst  all  dem 
houses;  an'  I  never  seed  sich  imperdent  niggers 
as  wuz  drivin'  de  hacks  aroun'.  One  lak  to  druv 
clean  over  me,  an'  den  ax  me  wliut  I  mean  by 
stan'in'  in  de  middle  o'  de  street  wid  my  mouf 
an'  eyes  wide  open  lak  a  fool.  An'  I  up  an'  toP 
him  if  he  git  down  offen  dat  box  fur  a  minute,  I  'd 
mek  his  mouf  an'  eyes  open  wussern  mine,— a 
lazy,  good  fur  nuffin'  nobody,  a  'sultin'  gemmun 
of  color  as  wuz  a  'havin'  deyselves.  I  tole  him  I 
b  'long  to  de  Dabneys  whut  owned  moh  niggers  'n 
his  mangy  bosses  had  hairs  on  dey  poh  ole  bodies, 
an'  I  riz  to  come  at  him  w'en  he  gin  his  two  crit- 
ters a  cut  an'  flew  down  de  street.  I  tell  you,  dat 
nigger  wuz  skeert,  he  wuz, ' '  and  Pompey  indulged 
in  another  resounding  kee-yaw-yaw. 

"Arter  dat  I  wuz  steppin'  out  putty  lively  to 
mek  up  fur  lost  time  wid  dat  nigger,  w'en  I  pass 
a  barber  shop  kep'  by  a  free  nigger.  He  wuz 
stan'in'  in  his  doh  an'  see  me  kiverin'  de  groun' 
w'en  he  axed  me  if  I  wuz  a  travelin'  or  gwine 


A  Church  Yard  Story  29 

some  whar.  I  turn  my  head  quick,  an'  tole  him 
I  wuz  fool  huntin'  an'  I  done  foun'  whut  I  come 
fur,  Laws-a-mussy,  but  he  wuz  bilin'  w'en  I  say 
dat.  I  tell  you,  sah,  hit  takes  Pomp  to  dress  dese 
free  niggers  down  an'  lam  'em  dey  place,  an' 
how  to  'have  deyselves  to  gemmun  o'  color.  Yes, 
Lawd! 

''Arter  a  few  days,  Miss  Cora's  frien's  went 
down  to  de  big  landin'  to  see  her  off  on  de  'Azoo 
River  boat,  whut  wuz  to  leave  at  five  o'clock. 
Mussy  on  me!  I  nuvver  see  so  many  boats  in  all  my 
life  as  dey  wuz  down  at  dat  wharf,  a  puflSn'  an* 
a  blowin'  dey  whistles!  'Pears  to  me  lak  I  seed  a 
hunder'd.  Some  wuz  a  comin'  in  an'  some  wuz  a 
backin'  out,  till  I  wuz  dizzy.  I  couldn'  count  de 
niggers  rollin'  cotton  bales  an'  bar 'Is,  an'  packin* 
boxes  on  dey  shoulders,  while  de  mates  wuz  a 
cussin'  an'  a  rarin';  an'  de  Cap'n  wuz  way  up  on 
de  topmos'  deck  walkin'  roun'  lak  Julius  Caesar. 

**Miss  Cora's  frien's  had  to  gin  her  farewell  at 
de  w'arf,  kase  we  got  dar  so  late;  so  Miss  Cora 
say  good-by  to  'em  all,  an'  de  Cap'n,  lookin'  as 
proud  as  a  peacock  lit  out  over  de  stage-plank 
wid  Miss  Cora  on  his  arm,  an'  me  a  follerin'  wid 
all  dem  shawls  an'  hat  boxes  an'  um'brels,  whilst 
a  whole  lot  o'  gemmuns  stood  leanin'  'ginst  de 
gyards  o'  de  boat  a  lookin'  dey  eyes  out  at  Miss 
Cora. 


30  A  Church  Yard  Story 

''I  tell  you,  suli,  w'en  she  come  up  dem  steps 
an'  stood  by  de  aidge  o'  de  gyards,  a  smilin'  an' 
a  wavin'  her  putty  white  han'  to  her  frien's  on 
de  sho',  dem  gemmuns  quit  lookin',  right  den  an* 
dar  at  ev'ything  but  Miss  Cora. 

''Jes  den,  w'en  de  las'  bell  wuz  a  tollin'  lak  a 
fun'ral,  an'  de  mate  wuz  a  hollerin',  an'  de  niggers 
wuz  a  draggin'  in  dat  big  plank,  an'  a  singing 
*Yo-ho-yo-e-oh,'  an'  de  boat  wuz  a  backin'  out,  I 
seed  a  young  man  runnin'  'cross  de  w'arf  to'ard 
de  plank  dat  wuz  six  foot  away.  Some  gemmun 
hollered : 

*'  'Don'  risk  it— look  out  dar— an'  some  ladies 
scream  out.  But  shoo!  dat  young  man,  'thout 
lookin'  up  ur  stoppin',  tuk  a  flyin'  jump  an'  lit  on 
de  plank  as  easy  as  a  bird;  an'  come  runnin'  down 
dat  slantin'  boa'd  as  uncunsarned  as  if  he  wuz  on 
de  street. 

'*I  notice  he  wuz  a  pow'ful  han 'some  young 
man,  wid  a  big  black  moustache  an'  black  curly 
hair;  an'  w'en  de  urrer  women  screech  Miss  Cora 
nuvver  say  a  word,  but  look  at  him  as  if  she  tryin' 
to  'member  sumpin'. 

**De  Cap'n  seem  to  know  him  an'  say: 

**  'Dat  wuz  a  risky  jump,  Mister  Faulkner.' 

**An'  de  young  man  jes  smile  an'  sayd,  keer- 
less  lak: 

"  'I  been  in  greater  danger  oftentimes,  Cap'n.' 


A  Church  Yard  Story  31 

An'  w'en  he  sayd  dat  he  tuk  hizse'f  off  to  de  gem- 
mun's  cabin. 

' '  Den  it  wuz  I  'gins  to  'member  dat  young  man 
whut  de  Cap'n  call'  Mister  Faulkner.  I  says  to 
myse'f,  dat's  ole  Ginnul  Faulkner's  son  whut's 
been  gone  'roun'  de  worl'  dese  five  ye'r  an'  moli'. 

''While  T  wuz  stan'in'  thinkin'  bout  w'en  I  seed 
him  las',  as  a  boy,  w'en  de  folks  sont  him  way  up 
Norf  to  college,  I  hyerd  a  sudden  crash  behin'  me 
lak  heaven  an'  yearth  wuz  comin'  togerrer.  I  riz 
in  de  air  an'  would  a  sho  landed  in  de  middle  o' 
de  river,  but  I  jes  ketched  myse'f  in  time,  an' 
lookin'  'roun'  I  seed  a  li'l  pop-eyed  nigger  a  hit- 
tin'  a  piece  o'  sheet  i'on  wid  a  bass  drum  stick  an' 
makin'  sicli  a  racket  I  couldn'  hye'r  my  own  ye'rs. 
My  breaf  wuz  putty  nigh  gone,  but  I  manage  to 
holler  in  his  ye'r  an'  ax  him  in  de  name  o'  de 
Lawd,  whut  wuz  de  mattali!  An'  he  leenst  over  to 
me  an'  say,  in  confidens,  dat  I  wuz  de  infunneles' 
fool  nigger  he  ever  seed;  dat  supper  wuz  ready 
fur  de  white  folks,  an'  dat  de  niggers  could  go 
below  wliar  dey  b'long.  An'  den  he  up  an'  tol' 
me  dat  sich  a  fool  nigger  as  I  wuz  could  go  to  a 
still  wusser  place.  Den  he  tu'n  away,  making  dat 
piece  o'  sheet  i'on  growl  down  de  cabin  lak  a 
dyin'  varmint  moaning'  hitse'f  to  death. 

**I  wuz  sho  glad  Miss  Cora  didn'  see  me  gin  dat 
jump;  but  if  I  could  ur  had  dat  nigger  whut 


32  A  Church  Yard  Story 

'suited  me,  in  my  lian's  jes  a  few  minutes,  I'd  a 
made  a  gong  out  o'  him  an'  dey'd  a  hyerd  him 
hollerin'  clean  back  to  Vicksbu'g— dey  would 
dat!  You  hyer  me  say  so!  I  sutny  wuz  mad  wid 
dat  nigger,  an'  hit  wuz  a  full  hour  foh  I  could 
git  my  riled  feelin's  smooved  out. 

''Arter  supper  Miss  Cora  sot  out  on  de  front 
deck  a  lookin'  at  de  lights  o'  Vicksbu'g,  as  we 
went  'roun'  de  big  hoss-shoe  ben',  fur  mos'  a  hour. 
De  Cap'n,  an'  de  clerks  w'en  de  Cap'n  wuzzen 
'roun',  an'  a  lot  o'  urrer  gemmun,  who  got  dey- 
se'ves  interdooced,  wuz  a  hoppin'  an'  a  skippin' 
roun'  Miss  Cora,  an'  showin'  her  dis  an'  pintin' 
her  dat,  tell  hit  would  a  run  some  folks  'stracted ; 
but  Miss  Cora,  she  hilt  her  own  an'  laugh  an'  talk 
back  pleasan '  tell  I  thought  I  nuvver  see  her  'pear 
so  han'some.  I  stayed  close  by  an'  kep'  my  eyes 
on  Miss  Cora,  an'  if  anybody  had  dassun  to  say  a 
word  to  her  whut  wuzzen  right,  I'd  a  bust  his  haid 
wide  open  if  dey  kilt  me  de  nex'  minute. 

''Wunst  Miss  Cora  tu'n  an'  look  at  me  an'  say, 
'Pompey,  hev  you  had  yoh  supper?'  an'  anurrer 
time,  'Are  dey  treatin'  you  well  on  de  boat,  Pom- 
peyr 

"Wen  some  o'  de  gemmun  hyerd  her  talk  dis 
way  to  me,  an'  foun'  out  I  wuz  her  nigger,  dey 
pass  by  me  sorter  keerless  lak  an'  say,  'Hyer's 
ha'f  a  dollar  fur  you,  Pompey,'  an'  some  time  it 


A  Church  Yard  Story  33 

wuz,  'Pompey,  youse  a  clever  feller.  Hyer's  a 
dollar  fur  you.'  Well,  suli,  I  got  nigh  on  to  five 
dollars  dat  night." 

Again  the  "  kee-yaw-yaw "  laugh  shot  from  the 
lips  of  the  negro  as  he  recalled  the  effect  of  the  re- 
flected beauty  of  his  young  Mistress  upon  his 
pocket. 

"Hit  wuz  w'ile  all  dese  gemmun  wuz  a  talkin* 
an'  a  scrapin'  'roun'  Miss  Cora  dat  I  seed  Mister 
Faulkner  ag'in,  leanin'  ag'inst  de  gyards  smoking 
a  seegar  an'  looking  back  at  de  lights  o'  Vicks- 
bu'g  we  wuz  a  leavin'  behin'.  Wunst  I  seed  him 
turn  an'  look  at  Miss  Cora  w'en  she  gin  one  o' 
her  musical  laughs  dat  used  to  set  Major  Sin- 
clair half  crazy.  At  de  same  time  I  see  Miss  Cora 
look  at  him,  an'  dey  bofe  look  steady  at  each  urrer, 
'peared  to  me,  fur  'bout  a  minute.  Den  Miss  Cora 
tuiTi  to  answer  one  o'  de  scrapin'  gemmun,  an' 
Mr.  Faulkner  look  back  at  Vicksbu'g.  Bymby  I 
ketch  'em  lookin'  at  each  urrer  again  an'  den 
dey  bofe  turn  quick  an'  nuvver  look  no  moh.  T 
say  to  myse'f,  'Hi.'  Dat's  all  I  sayd,  but  I  thunk 
a  heap. 

''Well,  suh,  arter  while  Miss  Cora  say  she's 
tired,  an'  would  retire.  So  sayin'  good-night  to 
all,  an'  tellin'  me  to  take  kyer  o'  myse'f,  she  re- 
journed to  her  state  room. 

"Dey  put  me  way  up  iu  de  place  call'  de  Texas, 


34  A  Church  Yard  Story 

or  Mexico,  I  dunno  which;  but  shoo!  I  wuzn't 
gwine  stay  up  dah  dat  fur  fum  Miss  Cora!  Whut 
if  de  boat  tuk  fire  an'  Miss  Cora  bu'n  up?  Whut 
I  gwine  to  say  to  her  Ma  w'en  I  see  her?  Naw, 
sah!  I  riz  right  up  fum  dat  Mexico  place,  an'  I 
say  to  myse'f,  'I's  gwine  to  go  down  close  to  whar 
Miss  Cora  is.'  So  I  krep'  out  on  de  herrikin 
deck,  an'  made  my  way  vahy  keerful  to  de  back 
steps. 

"I  stayed  at  de  eend  o'  de  boat  a  minute  lookin' 
'roun'.  We  done  got  outen  de  Miss'ippi,  clare 
th'u'  de  Ole  Eiver,  an'  wuz  now  way  up  de  'Azoo. 
De  paddle  wheels  on  bofe  sides  o'  de  boat  wuz  a 
makin'  music  as  dey  hit  de  water;  two  steam  pipes 
close  to  me  wuz  a  sayin',— korf-korf,  korf-korf,— 
an'  de  ole  boat  wuz  a  trim'lin'  an'  a  shakin.  Outen 
de  top  0 '  de  big  chimleys  whut  wuz  bigger  'n  taller 
'n  a  gum  tree,  de  sparks  wuz  Hying'  an'  de  smoke 
come  pourin'  out  up  dar  in  two  long  trails  an' 
got  mixed,  tell  dey  look  lak  two  big  snakes  a 
twis'in'  deyse'ves  togen^er  way  down  de  river  an' 
a  crawlin'  arter  us. 

*'Jes  den  I  looks  for'ard  an'  see  Mister  Faulk- 
ner a  walkin'  up  an'  down  on  de  herrikin  deck  wid 
dat  everlastin'  seegar  in  his  mouf.  I  laugh  in 
my  sleeve  an'  say,  *I  speck  he  cain'  res'  fur 
thinkin'  o'  Miss  Cora.'  Den  I  went  down  de  back 
stairs  an'  hunted  fur  Miss  Cora's  room.    I  kep'  a 


A  Church  Yard  Story  35 

tappin'  firs'  at  one  doh  an'  den  anurrer,  till  at 
las'  I  come  to  de  right  room,  an'  w'en  Miss  Cora 
liyer  me,  she  say  in  dat  sof '  way  o'  hem, 

**  'Is  dat  you,  Pompeyl  Whut  is  de  mattah.  Is 
dare  any  trouble  I ' 

"  'No,  Miss  Cora,'  says  I,  'dah  ain'  no  trouble 
yit,  but  dey  mought  be  some,  an'  I  come  hyer  to 
be  close  to  you  if  sumpin'  do  happen.' 

"Den  she  ax  me  won't  I  be  discumfertable  out 
dah;  an'  I  tell  her  'No,  Maam',  kase  'twuz  a  wahm 
night  an 'I  purfurs  to  be  out  dohs. 

' '  Well,  suh,  I  lays  down  in  de  comer,  'hin '  some 
trunks  so  de  watchman  couldn'  see  me,  but  close 
to  Miss  Cora's  doh,  an'  presny  I  drapt  off  in  a 
light  doze.  I  speck  I  mus'  a  slep  three  ur  foh 
hours,  w'en  all  to  wunst  dat  boat  gin  a  big  jar  an' 
went  to  tr'm'lin'  an'  a  shakin'  lak  a  nigger  wid  a 
swamp  chill.  I  runs  for'ard  an'  de  li'l  bells  wuz  a 
jinglin'  down  on  de  b'iler  deck,  an'  de  mate  an' 
de  rousterbouts  an'  deck  ban's  wuz  a  runnin' 
'roun'  an'  cussin'  tuhrbul.  Den  somebody  holler 
out  dat  de  boat  hed  struck  a  snag  an'  wuz  gwine 
down.  Somebody  else  holler,  wake  up  de  passen- 
gers an'  'foil  'twuz  outen  his  mouf  I  dun  fly  back 
to  Miss  Cora,  an'  wuz  poun'in'  on  her  doh,  an' 
hollerin'  to  her  to  wake  up  quick,  dat  de  boat  wuz 
sinkin'.  But  she,  de  Lawd  bless  her  angel  soul, 
wuz  so  tired  fum  all  dem  three  days  runnin'  'roun' 


36  A  Church  Yard  Story 

in  Vicksbu'g  dat  de  jar  an'  trimlin'  o'  de  boat, 
all  de  rousterbouts  gwine  on,  an'  all  de  'citement 
down  stairs,  an'  me  callin'  to  her,  nuvver  move 
her.  So  I  hit  de  doh  ag'in  an'  I  hyer  her  sof 
sweet  voice  sayin', 

**  'Is  dat  you,  Pompey?    Whut's  de  matter?' 

''An'  I  holler  back,  'fur  Gawd  sake,  Miss  Cora, 
git  up  quick  an'  open  dis  doh;  de  boat's  sinkin' 
an'  sinkin'  fas'.  Quick,  chile,  hurry  or  we'll  all 
be  drownded.'  De  nex'  secon'  I  hyer  her  bahr 
foot  hit  de  floh,  an'  hyer  her  tryin'  to  open  de  doh. 
Den  she  call  out, 

"  'Pompey,  sumpin's  de  matter  wid  de  doh!' 

"Jes  den  I  feel  de  boat  sett'lin'  for-ard  an'  a 
careenin'  over  to  one  side  an'  a  trim'lin  all  over 
whilst  de  women  wuz  a  screechin'  an'  men  holler- 
in',  an'  de  tables,  cheers  an'  chandeliers  wuz  a 
smashin'  inside  de  cabin. 

"Den  I  ciy  out  quick  to  Miss  Cora,  wid  my 
heart  in  my  mouf  an'  tears  runnin'  down  my  face, 

"Miss  Cora,  run  outen  yoh  front  doh  an'  down 
de  cabin  to  de  back  doh  at  de  eend  an'  I'll  be  dah 
to  meet  you  an'  he'p  you.  An'  I  hyer  her  say  as 
cool  as  a  cucumber, 

"  'All  right,  Pompey,'  an'  her  front  doh  bang, 
an'  I  kno'd  she  wuz  gone.  Den  I  tell  you,  I  done 
sum  fas'  runnin'  an'  got  'roun'  de  back  gyards  to 
meet  her.    Jes  den  de  ole  boat  gin  anurrer  sot  an' 


A  Church  Yard  Story  37 

sudge  for'd,  an'  siimpin'  orful  lieavv  fell  agin  de 
doll  befoh  me  an'  I  couldn'  budge  it.    I  holler  fer 
Miss  Cora  an'  dah  wuz  no  answer.    I  looked  lak  a 
crazy  nigger,  an'  wuz  gwine  'stracted  fas'  w'en 
I  hyer  somebody  jump  in'  down  de  back  steps  an' 
I  see  Mister  Faulkner  wid  his  face  white  an'  his 
eyes  blazin.'    He  ketched  me  by  de  shoulder  an' 
say: 
"  'Whar  Miss  Dabney?' 
''An'  I  bust  out  a  cryin  an'  say: 
"  'She  in  dah  som'ers  an'  I  cain  git  to  her.* 
"Den  he  tuk  de  floh  mop  in  his  han'  an'  gin  dat 
doll  sicli  a  smash  dat  ev'y  pane  o'  glass  wuz  bus' 
to  pieces.    Den  wid  his  fingers  a  trem'lin'  he  toll 
out  mos'  o'  de  sash,  cuttin'  his  ban's  as  he  done  it, 
an'  tried  to  git  th'u',  but  de  boat  had  sot  dis  way 
an'  dat  way,  an'  flung  de  funnicher  ag'in  de  doh 
an'  block  hit  up.    Den  he  call  to  her  an'  nobody 
answer.    Den  he  tuk  a  long  look  up  de  cabin  an' 
sayd: 

"  'Thank  God,  yonder  she  is';  an'  de  nex' 
minute  he  done  lef  me  an'  wuz  flyin'  up  stairs 
an'  me  arter  him.  Dare  wuz  no  time  to  lose,  'case 
de  boat  wuz  sinkin'  fas'.  I  see  him  take  up  a  axe 
an'  bre'k  in  de  transum.  I  wuz  wid  him  w'en  he 
pull  it  out  an'  we  bofe  look  in;  an'  dah  de  cabin 
wuz  full  o'  water,  wid  tables  an'  cheers  an'  dead 
folks  floating'  aroun'.     De  water  had  riz  up  to 


38  A  Church  Yard  Story 


de  ceilin'  in  de  gemmun's  cabin,  an'  wuz  puttin' 
out  de  lights  w'en  we  look  in.  Den  we  look  de 
urrer  way,  an'  dali,  almos'  right  under  us,  wuz 
Miss  Cora  in  her  white  night  gown  an'  long  black 
hair  fallin'  over  her  shoulders  an'  pinned  bow- 
dashusly  to  de  wall.  Dah  she  wuz,  wais'  deep  in 
water,  an'  pinned  tight  by  dem  big  dinin'  tables 
an'  things,  so  she  couldn'  move  herse'f,  ur  lif  her 
ban's.  Mister  Faulkner  spoke  up  to  her  lak  light- 
nin'. 

''  'Miss  Dabney,  are  you  hurt?' 
"An'  she  look  up  lak  she  sorter  dazed,  an'  wid 
a  faint  smile  say: 

"  'Sump in'  has  struck  me,  I  b'lieve.'  Den  Mr. 
Faulkner,  stoopin'  way  down,  sayd: 

"  'I  cain'  quite  reach  yoh  shoulders  to  lif  you 
up ;  kin  you  raise  yoh  ban 's  to  me  ? ' 

"She  shuk  her  head  an'  look  up,  an'  den  we  see 
her  fix:  she  wuz  pinned  in  an'  hilt  down  by  dose 
varus  contrapshuns  in  de  cabin.  Now,  all  dis  tuk 
place  foh  a  man  could  say  Jack  Roberson  an' 
count  twenty  ef  I  is  slow  er  tellin'  it.  De  nex' 
thing,  I  hyer  Mister  Faulkner  say : 

"  'I  hate  to  do  it,  but  I  mus'  save  you  any  way,' 
an'  Lor'  bless  you,  dat  man  take  dat  big  scrum- 
shus  suit  o'  Miss  Cora's  hair  in  his  ban's  an'  lif 
her  clare  up  by  it  jes'  as  de  boat  gin  anurrer  roll 
an'  flung  de  tables  offen  her.    Den,  'foh  dey  roll 


A  Church  Yard  Story  39 


back,  Mister  Faulkner  had  a  good  holt  on  her  arms, 
an'  wid  de  veins  a  stan'in'  out  in  his  forrid  lak 
cords,  he  drug  her  th'u  the  transum,  an'  toted  her 
in  his  arms  to  one  o'  de  boats  dey  keep  on  de 
herrikin  deck.  He  made  her  lay  down  on  some 
baggin'  he  flung  in  de  boat,  an'  den  quicker 'n  a 
flash  he  tuk  his  black  dress  coat  off  an'  put  it 
roun'  Miss  Cora  snug  an'  nice. 

''De  nex'  thing  dat  man  do,  an'  I  nuvver  see  a 
man  so  quick  on  de  trigger,  he  whip  out  his  knife, 
cut  de  ropes  tyin'  de  boat  to  de  deck,  put  two  oars 
in,  an'  den  stoppin'  fur  de  fus'  time  an'  wipin' 
his  face  wid  his  han'kercher,  he  say  to  me  as  we 
bofe  wuz  leanin'  'g'inst  de  boat,  'if  de  boat  sink 
now  we  kin  float  off  safe  in  dis.' 

"All  dis  time  Miss  Cora  nuvver  say  a  word.  Her 
face  wuz  mighty  red  w'en  Mister  Faulkner  put 
his  arms  roundst  her,  an'  pack  her  to  dat  boat; 
but  w'en  he  put  his  nice  black  coat  roun'  her  she 
look  up  gra'ful  at  him  an'  I  see  a  sof '  look  in  her 
eyes  w'en  dey  wuz  on  him;  so  I  say  to  myse'f,  'Hi' 
again.  I  tell  you,  suh,  you  cain'  fool  dis  nigger 
bouten  some  things." 

"Wliat  became  of  the  steamboat?"  I  asked, 
really  interested  in  the  story.  "Did  she  go  to  the 
bottom,  and  you  three  float  off  down  the  stream?" 

"Naw,  suh,  an'  yes,  suh,  bofe.  Wile  Mister 
Faulkner  wuz  savin'  an'  taking  keer  o'  Miss  Cora, 


40  A  Church  Yard  Story 

de  ole  boat  tu'n  her  head  outen  to'ards  de  middle 
o'  de  river  an'  settled  down  on  de  bottom  wid  her 
hin'  eend,  whar  we  wuz,  lif '  up  so  dat  de  bow,  as 
dey  call  it,  wuz  all  outen  sight;  but  de  two  big 
chimleys  wuz  p'intin'  up  at  de  stars  lak  de  toes 
uv  a  dead  nigger.  Mister  Faulkner  tole  Miss  Cora 
de  boat  would  sink  no  moh,  an'  if  it  did  he  could 
fetch  her  safe  to  sho'  anyhow." 

"AVhat  became  of  the  other  passengers?"  I 
asked. 

"Some  uv  'em  wuz  drownded  an'  some  tuk  to  de 
boats  an'  pull  down  de  river  fur  help.  You  see, 
dah  wuz  a  big  overflow  dat  spring,  an'  de  banks 
o'  de  'Azoo  Eiver  whar  we  wuz  havin'  our  mis'ry 
wuz  kivered  wid  water,  an'  dey  couldn'  Ian'  dah. 
Some  o'  de  gemmun  dat  wuz  so  spry  roun'  Miss 
Cora  de  fob  part  o'  de  night  wuz  pyerched  up  on 
bales  an'  planks  not  fur  fum  us,  but  as  dey  didn' 
have  all  dey  close  on,  dey  kep'  a  speckful  distance 
fum  Miss  Cora.  Some  had  on  one  thing  an'  some 
anun'er,  an'  some  had  on  skasely  nothin'  'tall. 
Mister  Faulkner,  as  he  tole  Miss  Cora,  had  nuvver 
gone  to  bed.  He  sayd  he  couldn'  sleep;  so  dar  he 
wuz  all  fixed  up  nice,  cep'n  his  coat,  whut  he  done 
flung  'roun'  Miss  Cora.  Dem  men  had  him  fenced 
oif  fum  her  de  ev'nin'  befoh,  but  bless  yoh  soul, 
honey,  he  sholy  had  'em  fenced  off  on  de  herrikin 
deck  dat  night.     'Feared  to  me  Mister  Faulkner 


A  Church  Yard  Story  41 

au'  Miss  Cora  got  to  un'erstan'in'  each  urrer 
pow'ful  well  dat  night  on  sich  short  'quaintance. 
Dey  nuwer  say  much,  but  whut  dey  did  say,  hit 
sholy  counted. 

'^  While  we  wuz  all  dah  waitin'  fur  de  row  boats 
to  come  back  fur  us,  we  hyerd  a  steamboat  whis- 
tle up  de  river.  I  tell  you  ev'ybody  wuz  sho'  glad. 
All  de  men  got  boP  an'  started  to  bet  whut  steamer 
hit  wuz,  an'  some  o'  de  ladies  tuk  de  hyxterics. 
We  hyerd  her  comin'  closter  and  closter,  her  pad- 
dles a  hittin'  de  water  a  mile  away,  an'  de  big  bell 
soun'in'  fur  de  cotton  Ian 'in 's.  Bjanby  we  seed 
her  come  sweepin'  roun'  de  ben'  o'  de  river,  wid 
her  lights  an'  big  black  chimleys,  an'  piled  all 
'roun'  wid  cotton  bales.  All  de  gemmun  got  to 
hollerin'  an'  wavin'  dey  hankerchers,  but  she 
seed  us  'thout  dat,  an'  blowed  her  whistle  an'  toll 
her  bell,  an'  come  a  bearin'  down  on  us,  an'  drap 
down  stream  a  ways  an'  den  move  sof '  back  up  to 
us.  Well,  sub,  I  hj'er  dem  river  men  a  hollerin'  an' 
a  splainin'  to  each  urrer,  an'  a  cussin'  cross  de  wa- 
ter foil  de  boat  flung  a  single  plank  to  us.  I  tell 
you,  suh,  dem  river  men  warn'  no  ways  'ligious. 
Dey  wuz  a  cussin'  fob  de  boat  sunk,  an'  a  cussin' 
w'en  she  wuz  gwine  down,  an'  a  cussin'  w'en  tur- 
rer  boat  arriv'.    'Twas  cussin'  all  de  time. 

"Well,  twam'  fifteen  minutes  fob  we  wuz  tuk 
aboard,  an'  dey  wuz  a  projickin'   'roun'  in  de 


42  A  Church  Yard  Story 

cabin  to  see  if  anybody  done  lef '  a  livin'  in  dah. 
Wile  dey  at  dat  Mister  Faulkner  axed  me  ef  I 
know  whar  wuz  Miss  Cora's  trunk.  I  tole  him 
one  wuz  on  de  forrer'd  deck  an'  now  at  bottom  o' 
de  river,  an'  de  urrer  one  Miss  Cora  had  move' 
close  to  her  room  on  de  back  gyards. 

'  *  Well,  suh,  I  nuvver  seed  sich  a  man.  He  swung 
liisse'f  over  de  side  o'  de  roof,  slip  down  de  pes', 
an'  me  arter  him;  an'  bless  you,  we  fin'  dat  trunk 
all  kivered  up  wid  urrer  things.  I  see  Mister 
Faulkner  gin  de  Mate  five  dollars,  an'  dat  trunk 
in  jes  no  time  wuz  settin'  by  Miss  Cora's  state- 
room doh,  as  peaceful  as  if  nuflSn  ever  done 
happen.  Den  Mister  Faulkner  sont  me  to  tell  her 
de  trunk  wuz  dah.  Wen  I  tap  at  Miss  Cora's 
doh,  an'  tole  her  whut  Mr.  Faulkner  say,  she  nuv- 
ver say  nuffin  for  a  minute,  an'  bym-by  she  put  out 
her  putty  ban'  an'  gin  me  Mister  Gerald's  coat 
an' sayd: 

*'  'Kerry  it  to  him  at  once,  Pompey,  an*  tell  him 
I  say  ter  please  take  keer  o'  hizse'f.'  I  walks 
down  de  cabin  wid  de  coat,  an'  as  I  go  I  say  ter 
myse'f,  'Hi!' 

"We  got  back  to  Vicksbu'g  nex'  ev'nin*,  an' 
Miss  Cora  gin  up  her  Silver  Crik  trip.  She  'lowed 
dat  her  Ma  would  be  'stracted;  'sides  ha'f  her 
cloze  wuz  in  de  bottom  o'  dat  'Azoo  River;  an'  so 
she  lit  out  fur  home  an'  me  wid  her.    Mister  Ger- 


A  Church  Yard  Story  43 

aid  seed  Miss  Cora  off  at  de  kyars.  I  hyerd  him 
tell  her  he  compel  to  go  up  de  nex'  day  to  one  o' 
his  Pa's  plantations,  an'  he  hope  to  see  her  agin 
in  two  weeks. 

* '  Den  Miss  Cora  say  fur  him  not  to  hurry  his- 
se'f ;  dat  cotton  an'  com  an'  levees  wuz  vahy  im- 
portan'  an'  mus'n  be  neglected  fur  nuffin  ur 
nobody.  Den  she  look  away  'cross  de  hills  'roun' 
Vicksbu'g  as  if  she  did'n  know  Mister  Faulkner 
wuz  stan'in'  close  by  her  a  hol'in'  out  his  han'  to 
say  good-bye. 

''I  jes'  wonder  whut  meks  women  folks  so 
aggei^atin'.  Dat  wuz  de  vahy  way  Dinah  use'  to 
treat  me  sometimes;  an'  special'  w'en  dat  yaller 
nigger,  Caesar,  wuz  'roun'.  But  Lor'  bless  you, 
w'en  me  an'  Miss  Cora  done  got  back,  an'  Dinah 
an'  all  de  res'  hear  'bout  de  tuhrbul  steamboat 
'sperience,  an'  how  I  hope  to  save  Miss  Cora's 
life— Shoo!  Caesar  don'  stan'  no  moh  chance 
arter  dat  wid  Dinah.  An'  dat  Caesar  up  an'  tol' 
Dinah  dat  if  he  had  been  dah  he'd  done  more'n 
me;  dat  he'd  a  got  Miss  Cora  outen  dat  place  wid- 
out  de  hope  o'  Mister  Faulkner.  But  hit  woudn' 
do,  an'  Dinah  'gin  to  look  sof '  on  me  fum  dat  vahy 
time. 

"In  'bout  two  weeks  I  notice  Miss  Cora  gittin' 
onresless.  She  'peared  mighty  intrusted  in  read- 
in'  de  Vicksbu'g  papers  'bouten  de  'rival  o'  de 


44  A  Church  Yard  Story 

boats  an'  sicli  lak.    One  day  Ole  Miss  say  to  her: 

'*  'Cora,  I  didn'  know  you  lak  to  read  de 
papers. ' 

"An'  Miss  Cora  say  sumpin'  keerlees,  an'  her 
face  git  red  lak  a  peony. 

"De  vahy  nex'  ev'nin'  Ole  Miss  an'  Miss  Cora 
wuz  sittin'  on  de  front  gal'ry  talkin'  wid  Major 
Carlisle,  Ole  Miss's  brudder  fum  Virginny,  whut 
spen'  a  few  weeks  wid  de  famly  ev'y  ye'r.  Hit 
wuz  a  pleasan'  ev'nin'  in  May  jes'  fob  sun  down. 
I  wuz  waterin'  Miss  Cora's  plants  by  de  doh 
steps,  an'  some  locusses  wuz  singin'  dey  moanful 
song  in  de  trees.  I  kin  hyer  dem  locusses  to  dis 
day. 

"Pres'ny,  I  hyer  Major  Carlisle  say  dat  de 
locusses  wuz  increasin'  an'  dat  dey  all  had  the  let- 
ter W  on  dey  wings,  an'  people  say  hit  token 
trouble  a  comin',  an'  de  letter  W  showed  whut  hit 
wuz  gwine  to  be.    Ole  Miss  laugh  an'  say, 

"  'Hit  mus'  be  war,  fur  de  overflow  has  already 
come  an'  we  have  de  trouble  o'  water.' 

"Den  Major  Carlisle  say,  blowin'  de  ashes  oft'en 
his  seegar,  dat  W  stood  fur  urrer  troubles  'sides 
war,— dat  he  done  'membered  hearin'  wine  an* 
women  put  in  dat  lis',  an'  we  mus'  not  furgit  dat 
W  stan'  fur  woe  hitse'f. 

"Den  Miss  Cora  speak  up  an'  sayd,  she  b'lieve' 


A  Church  Yard  Story  45 

dey  wuz  superstitious;  an'  jes  den  I  hyer  Major 
Carlisle  say, 

"  'Whut  a  splendid  hossman  dat  is  ridin'  yon- 
der.' 

'*  We  all  look  up  an'  see  a  young  man  cant'rin' 
'long  de  big  road  on  a  fine  black  boss.  De  boss 
wuz  skittisb  an'  skeery,  but  bis  rider  sot  bim  lak 
dey  wuz  one  piece.  W  'en  be  come  to  our  big  gate 
de  gemmun  stop  an'  raise  de  latcb,  an'  we  could 
see  bim  tb'u'  de  trees  comin'  roun'  de  av'nu' 
curv^e,  an'  ridin'  up  to'ards  de  bouse  wbar  we  wuz. 
I  look  jes  once  an'  knowed  wbo  'twuz.  Den  I  look 
quick  fur  Miss  Cora,  an'  sbe  done  gone!  I  tu'n  to 
Major  Carlisle  an'  say, 

**  'Dat's  Mister  Gerald  Faulkner,  sab.' 
''Well,  dey  sutney  wuz  glad  to  see  bim  an'  in- 
sbured  bim  so.  Ole  Miss  look  lak  sbe  never  leggo 
bis  ban'  an'  call  bim  ber  daugbter's  pursun^er. 
Den  sbe  told  me  to  bave  Mister  Faulkner's  boss 
tuk  to  de  stable  at  once.  Major  Carlisle  wuz 
pow'ful  perlite,  too.  Den  dey  bofe  'gin  to  say, 
'  Wbar  is  Cora  ? '  An'  jes  den  Miss  Cora  step  outen 
de  ball  lookin'  so  putty  dat  I  see  Mister  Faulk- 
ner's eyes  look  lak  dey  wuz  eatin'  ber  up,  an'  his 
voice  had  a  kin'  o'  trimble  as  be  say, 

"  'Miss  Dabney,  do  we  need  to  be  interdooced?' 
"I  bad  been  wond'rin'  whut  make  Miss  Cora 


46  A  Church  Yard  Story 

lef  so  sudden  w'en  she  seed  Mister  Gerald  comin'. 
Dab  she  been  lookin'  fur  him  fur  days,  an'  now 
w'en  he  gits  in  sight  an'  wuz  mos'  dab,  she  run 
away.  I  axed  Dinah  'bout  sich  'havior,  an'  she 
toss  her  haid  an'  sayd,  we  men  folks  wuz  stoopid 
an'  couldn'  see  th'u'  a  mill  stone  wid  a  hole  in  it. 

''Howsomever,  I  sayd  to  Dinah  dat  I  nuvver 
seed  Miss  Cora  look  puttier  in  mah  life,  an'  dat 
she  sutny  wuz  too  putty  fur  any  one  man  in  de 
worl'.  Den  Dinah  snap  me  up  ag'in  by  axin  me 
how  many  men  I  speck  Miss  Cora  to  marry.  I 
tried  to  sass  her  back,  but  she  lef  me  fob  I  could 
'spress  myse'f.  I  tell  you.  sub,  women  folks  is  sho' 
cur 'us. 

"Arter  w'ile  dey  all  went  in  de  libra 'y  an'  I 
hyer  'em  laughin'  an'  gwine  on  wid  some  mob 
comp'ny  whut  drapt  in,  so  I  went  out  an'  sot  on 
de  front  steps  a  lis'nin'  to  de  locusses  an'  thinkin' 
'bout  whut  Major  Carlisle  say  'bout  dat  W  on  dey 
wings.  'Pears  to  me  I  kin  hyer  dem  locusses  sing- 
in'  to  dis  vahy  day.  Hit  wuz  sholy  a  solumcholly 
tune. 

''Arter  dat  day,  dah  wuz  great  kerryin's  on  at 
de  big  house,  an'  whut  wid  rides  an'  picnics  an' 
parties  an'  sich  lak,  de  summer  pass  away  an'  Fall 
come.  I  kep'  wond'rin'  when  Mister  Gerald  an' 
Miss  Cora  gwine  fix  dat  thing  up  whut  wuz  bear- 
in'  so  on  dey  min's.    Sev'ral  times  I  see  Mister 


A  Church  Yard  Story  47 

Gerald  gittin'  ready  to  speak,  an'  Miss  Cora  would 
tu'n  hit  off,  ur  jump  up  an'  say  she  didn'  know 
whar  her  fan  wuz,  an'  all  sich  talk.  Women  is 
sutny  cur 'us  an'  aggervatin'. 

"Bymby,  Mister  Gerald  quit  comin'  an'  nigh 
a  whole  mont'  pass  an'  no  Mister  Gerald.  Den 
we  hyer  he  wuz  gwine  'roun'  a  good  deal  wid  a 
young  lady  wliut  wuz  vis 'tin'  his  Pa  an'  Ma,  an' 
dat  she  wuz  pow'ful  han'some,  an'  folks  sayd  she 
had  ketched  Mister  Gerald.  I  hyerd  Major  Car- 
lisle talkin'  'bout  it  to  Ole  Mistis  at  de  breakfas' 
table,  an'  I  notice  Miss  Cora  talk  mighty  gay  but 
she  don'  eat  nuffin. 

"A  few  nights  arter  dat  de  big  house  wuz  full 
o'  comp'ny,  an'  Miss  Cora  wuz  movin'  'roun' 
dressed  in  black  velvet  an'  di'mon's,  an'  lookin' 
lak  a  queen.  Sev'ral  gemmun  wuz  a  skippin' 
'roun'  her,  as  usual,  w'en  Mister  Gerald  Faulkner 
wuz  'nounced  an'  walked  in.  He  soon  come  to 
Miss  Cora  wid  his  ole  bright  smile,  but  w'ile  she 
wuz  monst'ous  perlite  to  him,  she  hilt  him  off  to 
anns'  length,  an'  sholy  friz  him.  She  axed  him 
how  he  been  de  pas'  mont',  an'  'foh  he  could  say 
a  word  she  tu'n  aroun'  an'  smile  at  anurrer  gem- 
mun in  sich  a  way  as  sot  de  li'l  feller  half  'stracted. 
I  see  Mister  Gerald  tu'n  a  Strang  s 'prise'  look  at 
Miss  Cora  an'  walk  away.  He  nuvver  look  at  her 
no  moh,  but  spoke  to  dis  one  an'  dat  one  in  his  fine 


48  A  Church  Yard  Story 

lian'some  way,  an'  den  I  liyer  him  makin'  his 
senses  to  Major  Carlisle  fur  leavin'  so  early,  an' 
axed  fur  his  hoss  to  be  brung  'roun'.  Den  I  see 
him  slip  outen  de  room  quiet.  Miss  Cora  went  on 
talkin '  as  if  she  nuvver  see  nuffin,  nor  know  nuffin ; 
but  w'en  Mister  Faulkner  walk  outen  dat  room, 
I  tell  you  she  knowed  it.  I  had  sont  de  order  fur 
Mister  Gerald's  hoss  an'  he  wuz  come;  an'  I  wuz 
at  de  eend  o'  de  gal'ry  lookin'  at  him  a  champin' 
on  de  bit  an'  a  stampin'  de  groun',  w'en  I  see 
Mister  Gerald  come  down  de  steps,  an'  walk 
to'ards  de  hoss  rack  under  de  trees  an'  'gin  to 
onhitch  him.  He  wuz  mos'  ready  to  mount,  w'en 
I  seed  Miss  Cora  come  outen  de  consuvvatory  an' 
stan'  in  de  shadder  o'  de  trees  close  to  him  'foil 
he  sees  her,  an'  I  hyer  her  say  mighty  sof '  lak, 

''  'Are  you  goin'  so  soon?' 

**He  tu'n  quick  an'  sayd, 

''  'Why  should  I  not  go?' 

**Den  I  hyer  her  answer  in  dat  meller  voice  o' 
hem, 

*'  'Of  co'se,  if  youse  tired  o'  us  an'  purfur  to  go, 
we  kin  say  nuthin'. 

"Arter  a  few  secon's  Mister  Gerald  speak  up 
an'  say, 

"You  seemed  so  indif'rent  to-night  I  thought 
my  absence  would  be  nuthin'  to  you.' 

' '  Den  Miss  Cora  answer, 


A  Church  Yard  Story  49 

'*  *I  wuz  no  moll  indif 'rent  to  you  'an  you  been 
to  us  for  de  las'  mont'.' 

"I  seed  Mister  Gerald  look  close  at  Miss  Cora 
an '  say, 

"  *I  could  not  lie'p  malise'f.  Mah  cousin,  Miss 
Hayes,  has  been  wid  us  a  mont'  an'  I  had  to  be  her 
escort  an'  couldn'  leave.' 

"  'Wuz  she  yoh  cousin?'  Miss  Cora  axed  him, 
lookin'  up  quick. 

'*  'Yes,'  says  Mister  Gerald,  'mah  firs'  cousin.* 

"Miss  Cora's  haid  'gin  to  droop  at  dat  an'  she 
made  li'l  marks  on  de  groun'  wid  de  toe  o'  her 
shoe.  Bymby,  lookin'  up  sideways  at  Mister  Ger- 
ald, she  sayd, 

' '  '  Mus '  you  leave  so  soon  ? ' 

"An'  Mister  Gerald  say  low.  but  I  could  hyer 
him, 

"  'I  would  love  nuvver  to  leave  you  ag'in.* 

"Den  I  see  his  haid  ben 'in'  over  her,  w'ile  her 
face  wuz  hid.    Arter  w  'ile  I  hyer  him  say, 

' '  Cora,  I  love  you  wid  mah  whole  soul ;  will  you 
let  me  stay  an'  nuvver  go  away?' 

"Miss  Cora's  haid  kep'  a  goin'  down,  an'  he 
sayd  ag'in, 

""  'Will  you,  Cora?' 

"Den  I  seed  Miss  Cora  lif  her  face  to  his  an'  I 
see  him  put  his  arms  'roun'  her  an'  dey  kiss  one 
long  kiss.   Den  Miss  Cora  say  quick, 


50  A  Church  Yard  Story 

**  'Lemme  go,  somebody  will  see  us.' 

''An'  Mister  Gerald  say, 

''  *I  don'  keer  if  de  whole  worP  see  us.  You 
are  mine.'  An'  he  kiss  her  ag'in  an'  ag'in,  w'ile 
his  big  black  boss  wuz  champin'  de  bit  an'  stamp- 
in'  de  gravel. 

''But  bymby  Miss  Cora  tell  him  she  mus'  go, 
dat  de  comp'ny  would  be  axin  fur  her;  so  arter 
Mister  Gerald  say  'plague  take  de  comp'ny,'  an' 
he  done  tuk  a  dozen  mob  kisses,  he  toh  hizse'f 
away,  an'  rid  in  a  gallop  down  de  road,  w'ile  Miss 
Cora  slip  back  th'u'  de  eunsuvvatory  an'  into  de 
parlor.  In  a  few  minutes  1  see  her  in  dab  wid  de 
people  an'  her  black  eyes  wuz  a  dancin'  an'  her 
cheeks  wuz  a  blazin'  red,  an'  I  'clare  to  gracious 
she  wuz  too  putty  fur  anything. 

"I  hyer  one  o'  de  gemmun  ax  her  whar  she  git 
de  roses  in  her  cheeks ;  wuz  hit  de  wuk  o '  de  Lawd 
or  o'  man.  An'  Miss  Cora  laugh  an'  say  she 
wouldn'  answer  sich  a  question.  Den  I  laugh  to 
mahse'f,  kase  I  knowed  a  thing  or  two. 

"Arter  dat,  dab  wuz  mob  kerryin's  on  an' 
parties  an'  sich  lak,  an'  soon  ev'ybody  knowed 
'bout  de  'gagement. 

"Well,  de  weddin'  day  wuz  'p'inted  fur  Thurs- 
day, de  tent'  o'  June.  My  Lands!  whut  a  time 
o'  fixin'  up  dab  wuz  in  de  big  house.  Dey  bought 
noo  funnicher  an'  carpets,  dob  whut  dey  bad  wuz 


A  Church  Yard  Story  51 

sutny  fine  'nougli.  A  lot  o'  de  laklies'  women  in 
de  qualiters  wuz  brung  up  to  de  house  to  'sist  de 
house  suvvants  in  de  extry  work.  Den  whut  a 
bakin'  an'  a  bilin'  an'  a  cookin'!  Me  an'  Caesar 
wuz  sont  on  hossback  all  over  de  country  a  kerry- 
in'  de  invites  to  de  Seymours,  de  Shelbys,  de  Car- 
letons  an'  all  de  big  folks.  On  top  o'  dat  de 
'lations  of  Ole  Mahster  an'  Ole  Mistis  come  all  de 
way  fum  Virginny  to  see  de  mahiage.  De  house 
wuz  full  o'  comp'ny  fur  days  'fore  de  time,  an' 
Miss  Cora  wuz  in  an'  out'  'mungst  'em  happy  as  a 
bird. 

**De  mahiage  wuz  to  take  place  on  de  momin' 
o'  de  tent'  o'  June,  an'  dey  wuz  to  go  Norf  on  a 
bridal  tower.  Mister  Gerald  had  gone  to  Noo  Or- 
leens  on  biz'ness  an'  wuz  to  'rive  on  de  nint'.  He 
had  sont  two  o'  his  trunks  an'  dey  wuz  put  in  de 
room  sot  apart  fur  him. 

"On  de  eight'  o'  June,  in  de  artemoon— My 
Lawd!  I  kin  never  furgit  dat  day— hit  makes  me 
sick  to  dis  hour  to  members  it.  De  gemmuns  wuz 
a  smokin'  dey  seegars  on  de  gal'ry,  an'  de  ladies 
wuz  in  de  libra 'y,  ur  in  dey  rooms,  w'en  we  see 
a  man  gallopin'  up  de  road  lak  mad.  Does  you 
know,  suh,  w'en  I  seed  dat  man  a  tearin'  along, 
I  feel  down  inside  o'  me  dat  sumpin  dreffel  gwine 
happen. 

"I  wuz  on  de  gal'ry,— me  an'  Caesar— passin* 


52  A  Church  Yard  Story 

roun'  some  cups  o'  coffee  w'en  I  see  dat  man  tu'n 
in  our  big  gate  an'  come  a  lopin'  up  de  road  dat 
swircled  roun'  th'u'  de  grove  up  to  de  house.    I 
notice  de  gemmun  put  down  dey  cups  an'  seegars 
an'  look  steady  at  dat  man.    Dah  had  been  a  rain 
dat  ev'nin  an'  de  man's  cloze  wuz  all  splashed  wid 
mud;  an'  w'en  he  flung  hizse'f  outen  de  saddle  an* 
come  walkin'  quick  to  de  house,  I  notice  his  hoss 
wuz  kivered  wid  lather,  an'  trim'lin'  an'  blowin' 
fit  to  kill.  Some  o'  de  gemmun  seem  to  know  de 
man  an'  tuk  his  han'  an'  axed  him  anxious  lak, 
*'  *Is  anything  de  matter?' 
"An'  he  sayd,  as  solemn  as  de  grave, 
'*  'Bad  nooz,  indeed.' 

"Den  he  inquested  de  gemmun  to  meet  him  in 
de  parlor,  an'  not  let  Ole  Mistis  ur  Miss  Cora  be 
dah.  So  w  'en  dey  got  in,  dah  wuz  a  whole  clump 
o'  ladies  who  done  smelt  trouble  a 'ready.  Den  dey 
all  crowd  'roun'  him  an  say, 
"  'Fur  God's  sake,  tell  us  whut's  de  matter.' 
"An'  de  man  tuk  a  tillygraph  outen  his  pocket 
an'  read  wid  his  voice  low,  an'  Dinah  copy  hit  fur 
me  arterwards: 

'New  Orleans,  June  8,  1859. 
Charles  F.  Brown, 

Medfield,  IMiss. 
Gerald  Faulkner  was  shot  and  killed  here  to- 


A  Church  Yard  Story  53 

day.    Letter  by  mail.    Break  news  to  tlie  Dabneys 
at  once.    What  must  be  done  with  the  body? 

George  Ellerton. ' 

''As  soon  as  de  las'  word  done  been  read  de 
gemmun  say  all  roun'  de  room,  My  Gawd!  and, 
Good  Gawd!  Den  some  one  say,  don'  let  Miss 
Cora  hyer  dis.  Let  it  be  broke  to  her  gentle.  An' 
ef  I  live  to  tell  it,  right  dah  befoh  our  eyes  wuz 
Miss  Cora,  white  as  death,  stan'in'  in  de  doh' 
'twixt  de  two  parlors  wid  de  porcher  curtains 
fallin'  bout  her  lak  a  pictur.  She  look  at  us  all 
wid  ur  awful  look  in  her  eyes,  an'  say, 

''  'Whut  has  happen'?    Is  dare  any  trouble?' 

*'W'en  she  say  dat,  some  o'  de  ladies  put  dey 
han'herchers  to  dey  eyes  an'  cried.  Nobody  seem 
willin'  to  bre'k  dat  sweet  young  heart.  An'  so 
Miss  Cora  tuk  a  step  for'd  an'  wid  her  han'  on  her 
breas'  a  clutchin'  her  dress  she  say, 

"  'Tell  me  whut  has  happen'.' 

"An'  ole  Major  Carlisle,  whut  wuz  her  uncle, 
come  up  to  her  an'  tuk  her  han'  an'  sayd, 

"  'Gawd  pity  you,  Cora.  Gerald  Faulkner  wuz 
shot  an'  killed  in  Noo  Orleans  to-day.' 

"Ef  I  live  to  a  thousan'  ye'r  I  kin  never  furgit 
de  look  Miss  Cora  tu'n  on  dat  man  an'  de  folks 
stan'in'  roun'.     She  nuvver  say  one  word,  but 


54  A  Church  Yard  Story 


jes  put  her  lian's  dis  way  over  her  heart,  an'  fell 
back  on  de  floh,  straight  as  a  shingle,  an'  lookin' 
lak  she  wuz  dead  as  a  doh  nail.  Ev'body  com- 
mence' runnin'  hyer  an'  dah,  callin'  fur  dis  an' 
eallin'  fur  dat,  an'  nobody  paying  no  'tention  to 
nobody,  w'en  I  jes  drap  down  by  her  an'  say, 

''  'Oh,  Miss  Cora!  Please,  ma'am,  don'  tek  on 
so.  Jes  speak  a  word  to  yoh  poh  nigger.  Ain'  I 
yoh  nigger f  Dis  is  Pomp  a  talkin'  to  you.  Miss 
Cora.    Don'  you  h'yer  me.  Miss  Cora?' 

"An'  so  I  jes  wen'  on,  a  wringin'  mah  ban's  lak 
I  wuz  stracted,  an'  so  I  wuz.  But  Miss  Cora 
nuvver  say  one  word,  nur  open  her  eyes;  but  lay 
all  white  an'  still  wid  bofe  ban's  over  her  heart, 
jes  so. 

'*De  nex'  t'ing  I  know  Ole  Mistis  wuz  in  dah, 
an'  I  tell  you,  suh,  she  riz  to  de  'casion.  She  wuz 
awful  kam,  but  she  gin  orders  roun'  dah  dat 
minded  me  o'  Ole  Mahster.  She  had  Miss  Cora 
move  right  up  in  her  room.  Some  o'  de  ole  fam'ly 
frien's  — Ginnul  Sinclair,  an'  Judge  Curtis,  an' 
Major  Carlisle,  Ole  Mistis 's  brudder,  lif '  up  de  poh 
crash'  chile,  an'  toted  her  up  stairs  wid  tears  a 
drappin'  down  dare  cheeks  as  dey  went.  Den  Ole 
Mistis  had  de  doh  shet,  an'  had  Miss  Cora  rubbed 
an'  fanned,  an'  sont  one  o'  de  suvvants  a  tearin* 
on  hossback  arter  a  doctor. 


A  Church  Yard  Story  55 

''  'Twuz  mos'  a  hour  'fore  Miss  Cora  open  her 
eyes,  an'  whut  you  reckon  she  say?  She  call  her 
Ma  to  her,  an'  as  Ole  Miss'  ben'  over  an'  say  wid 
trem'lin'  lips, 

"  *Whut's  de  mattah,  daughter,  whut  kin  we  do 
for  you  f ' 

**Miss  Cora  look  up  wid  dat  same  'spressiou  I 
have  seen  in  a  deer's  ej'es  w'en  he  been  shot,  an' 
say, 

*'  'Mother,  I  want  his  body  ship  hyer  at  once, 
an '  buried  in  de  chu  'chyard. ' 

**01e  Mistis,  wid  de  tears  runnin'  down  her 
cheeks,  nodded  her  haid  an'  say,  wid  a  choke  in 
her  voice : 

**  'Hit  shall  be  done,  my  chile.' 

**01e  Miss'  no  sooner  sayd  dis  an'  riz  to  go,  w'en 
Miss  Cora  put  her  two  ban's  over  her  heart,  jes 
lak  she  done  befoh,  as  if  it  wuz  breakin',  an'  den 
wid  a  wail  dat  dey  all  hyerd  down  stairs,  an'  broke 
us  all  down  ag'in,  she  cry, 

'*  '0,  my  poor  heart.  It  will  sholy  break.  0, 
Lawd,  have  mercy  on  me. ' 

"Den  her  Ma  an'  sev'ral  o'  de  ladies  run  back 
to  her  an'  coo  over  her,  an'  pet  her  an'  say, 

'*  'Yes,  darlin',  He  will  have  mercy  on  you.  He 
will  help  you,  dear.'  An'  you  hyer  me,  sub.  Miss 
Cora  done  gone  off  ag'in  in  one  o'  dem  dead  faints. 


56  A  Church  Yard  Story 


I  wuz  Stan 'in'  at  de  doli  w'en  all  dis  wuz  gwine 
on,  wid  mah  heart  all  bus'  to  pieces,  an'  cryin'  fit 
to  kill.    I  sho  love  Miss  Cora,  suh. 

"Bymby  de  ladies  foteh  Miss  Cora  to  ag'in  wid 
dey  han'  rnbbin'  an'  smellin'  salt..  Den  de  Doctor 
come  an'  gin  her  snmpin  to  quiet  her,  an'  lef* 
d'rections  fur  de  ladies  to  leave  de  room.  So  dey 
all  wen'  down  stairs,  an'  Ole  Miss'  went  out  to 
gin  some  moh  orders,  an'  dah  wuz  Miss  Cora 
layin'  white  an'  still  on  de  baid,  an'  her  eyes 
closed,  an'  nobody  in  de  room  but  Dinah,  an'  me 
outside  in  de  hall  a  settin'  on  de  floh  wid  mah 
haid  ag'in  de  doh,  an'  mah  tears  a  drippin'  on  de 
carpet.  I  speck  I  mus'  grieve  louder 'n  I  think, 
w'en  I  hyer  Miss  Cora's  voice,  sof  an'  low, 

''  'Who's  dat  at  de  doh,  Dinah?' 

**An'  Dinah  say, 

**  *  'Tain'  nobody  but  Pompey,  Miss  Coral' 

*'Den  I  hyer  Miss  Cora  say, 

**  'Tell  him  he  kin  come  in  fur  a  minute.* 

*'Wen  I  tip  in  an 'see  Miss  Cora  layin'  in  de 
baid  wid  her  face  as  white  as  de  sheet,  her  black 
hair  flung  down  on  de  pillow  an'  her  eyes  bumin' 
lak  fire  wuz  inside,  I  tell  you,  mah  breas'  wuz  dat 
sore  I  could  skasely  draw  mah  bref.  W'en  Miss 
Cora  hyerd  me  comin'  in  she  tu'n  dem  bu'nin'  eyes 
on  me  an'  retch  out  her  putty  white  han'  an'  say, 


A  Church  Yard  Story  57 

''  'Dear  ole  fai'ful  Pompey,  ain'  you  soriy  fur 
your  poll  Mistis  ? ' 

''Den  it  look  lak  de  whole  t'ing  rush  over  her 
ag'in,  an'  puttin'  her  han's  over  her  heart,  she  gin 
one  o'  dem  cries— sich  a  lonesome  cry— dat  I 
'clare  to  gracious  I  thought  it  would  sholy  bus' 
my  heart.  Dinah  wuz  cryin'  at  de  foot  o'  de  baid, 
an'  I  fell  down  by  de  side  o'  de  baid  a  sayin', 

''  'Miss  Cora,  fur  de  Lawd's  sake  don'  tek  on 
so.    You  gwine  kill  yohse'f  an'  all  us  too.' 

''By  dis  time  Ole  Miss'  an'  some  o'  de  ladies 
come  a  runnin'  up  de  stairs  in  de  room,  kase  dey 
all  hyerd  Miss  Cora  w'en  she  gin  dat  lonesome 
cry,  an'  dah  wuz  Dinah  crj'in'  an'  me  a  crj^in'  wid 
mah  haid  on  de  carpet  by  de  side  o'  de  baid,  an' 
Miss  Cora  lookin'  lak  she  wuz  done  dead  ag'in. 
Ole  Miss  sont  me  outen  de  room  wid  a  message,  an' 
as  I  come  down  stairs  I  see  de  ladies  an'  de  gem- 
muns  bofe  wuz  a  crying  an'  a  usin'  dey  hanker- 
chers  pow'ful. 

"I  tell  you,  suh,  Ole  Miss'  she  riz  to  de  'casion. 
In  ten  minutes  she  wuz  down  stairs  ag'in,  an' 
sont  off  orders  lak  a  Cap'n.  She  writ  a  tillygraph 
to  de  gemmun  wliut  sont  de  nooz,  an'  anurrer  to 
her  lawyer  in  Noo  Orleens,  telling  him  to  have  de 
body  emba'm  an'  sont  right  on  de  firs'  train.  She 
say  in  de  tillygraph  to  'spatch  her  full  'tic'lars  o' 


58  A  Church  Yard  Story 

Mister  Faulkner's  death  at  her  'si3eDse.  I  hyerd 
her  read  it  to  ole  Judge  Curtis  an'  Major  Carlisle. 
Den  she  inquested  one  o'  de  gemmun  at  de  house 
to  take  de  'spateh  to  Medfield  an'  sen'  back  de 
answers  by  safe  ban's;  an'  in  les'n  five  minutes  we 
hyerhis  boss  flyin'  down  de  road.  She  sont  a  mes- 
sage to  de  man  she  hire  to  keep  de  chu'chyard  all 
right,  'bout  diggin'  de  grave.  She  writ  to  Ginnul 
Faulkner  an'  tol'  him  de  sad  nooz  an'  'formed  him 
dat  Miss  Cora  wants  de  fun'ral  fum  de  house,  an' 
crave  de  priv'Iege  dat  de  body  be  buried  back  o' 
dey  chu'ch  whar  she  could  see  de  grave  frequen' 
an'  tek  keer  o'  hit.  Yes,  sub,  Ole  Miss'  did  all 
dem  t'ings  an'  mob,  too.  She  riz  to  de  'casion  dat 
night,  she  sholy  did. 

"Dar  wuz  mighty  li'l  res'  fur  us  in  de  big  house 
dat  night.  Hit  look  lak  folks  wuz  a  comin'  an'  a 
gwine  all  de  time.  An'  go  to  de  dob  w'en  you 
would,  you  could  hyer  de  boss's  hoofs,  er  cliperty- 
cliperty-cliperty  up  an'  down  de  road. 

''Den  nobody  keered  to  go  to  baid  tell  dey  hyer 
fum  de  tillygraphs  whut  Ole  Miss'  sont  to  Xoo 
Orleens.  De  gemmun  smoke  an'  talk  on  de  gal'ry 
a  w'ile  an'  den  come  whar  de  ladies  wuz  in  de 
libra 'y  an  de  parlor.  Ev'ybody  wuz  onres'less 
lak. 

"Hit  wuz  jes  ha'f  pas'  twelve  o'clock  w'en  I 
hyer  de  big  gate  slam,  an'  a  boss  a  gallopin'  up  de 


A  Church  Yard  Story  59 

av'noo  an'  stop  in  front  o'  de  house.  De  gemmun 
all  crowd  on  de  gal'ry  an'  watch  de  man  whut 
fotch  de  message  fum  de  office  as  he  gin  it  to  Major 
Carlisle.  I  seed  de  Major  gin  de  man  twenty  dol- 
lars whut  Ole  Miss'  tol'  him  to  han'  him  w'en  he 
come.  Eight  dah  on  de  front  po'ch,  wid  de  ceilin' 
lamp  shinin'  on  de  comp'ny,  an'  de  man  stan'in' 
on  de  groun'  by  his  hoss  dat  wuz  all  in  a  lather  an' 
sweat  lak  de  un^er  hoss  whut  brung  de  firs'  mes- 
sage,—right  dah  Major  Carlisle,  wid  his  fingers 
a  trem'lin',  tore  de  yaller  'velope  open  an'  read 
de  'spatch.  I  disremembers  de  zack  words,  but  hit 
run  sorter  dis  way : 

"  'Altercation  wid  young  lawyer.  Lawyer 
struck.  Faulkner  challenge  to  duel.  Met  in  ole 
fiel'  nigh  de  city.  Faulkner  fell  at  de  firs'  fire 
shot  th'u'  de  haid,  an'  died  instant.  Body  bein' 
emba'm.    Ship  early  to-morrer.' 

*'De  nex'  day  look  lak  hit  never  would  end. 
Hosses  an'  kerriges  kep'  a  comin'  an'  a  gwine. 
Niggers  wuz  a  flyin'  roun'  an'  de  white  folks 
whisperin'  bout  de  house.  Wen  de  night  come 
de  grave  been  dug  an'  de  fun'ral  notices  sont  all 
over  de  count ly. 

**Arter  supper,  de  gemmun  sot  on  de  po'ch  a 
talkin'  in  low  voices  lak  dey  did  de  night  befoh. 
At  nine  o'clock  dey  come  in  de  libra 'y  'mungst 
de  ladies  an'  ev'vbodv  wuz  talkin'  low. 


60  A  Church  Yard  Story 

^'Bymby  I  liyer  de  hall  clock  strak  ten.  Hit 
sounded  vahy  moanful,  I  wuz  walkin'  jes  arter 
dat,  'long  side  o'  de  house  to'ard  de  front  w'en 
hyer  come  Dinah  runnin'  lak  one  'stracted  an' 
ketched  hoP  o'  me  an'  sayd, 

"  'De  huss  is  comin'  up  de  road.' 

''I  look  an'  dah  sho  'nough  comin'  up  de  av'noo 
wuz  two  black  hosses  drawin'  de  huss.  De  ha'f 
moon  wuz  a  peepin'  th'u'  de  trees  an'  I  could  see 
de  big  plumes  on  de  huss  a  wavin'  an'  a  noddin'. 
Dinah  gin  one  skeered  look,  an'  sayin', 

"  'Hit's  bad  luck  to  meet  a  huss,'  she  lit  out  an' 
lef  me. 

"I  come  to  de  front  an'  foun'  dat  ev'ybody  in 
de  libra 'y  had  hyerd  de  wheels  an'  had  come  out 
on  de  gal'ry  to  meet  de  body.  Dah  wuz  sev'ral 
buggies  an'  kerriges  wid  some  gemmun  frien's 
wid  de  huss.  In  a  li'l  w'ile  dey  brung  Mister 
Gerald  in  his  fine  casket  into  de  back  parlor. 

"I  sot  on  de  steps  an'  cried.  Dis  wuz  de  vahy 
night  he  wuz  to  'rive  to  be  mahied  an'  hyer  he  wuz 
done  brung  home  in  a  huss,  dead  an'  boxed  up  in 
a  coffin.  Hyer  he  wuz  to  be  mahied  de  nex'  day, 
an'  Lawd-a-Mussy,  he  wuz  buried  de  vahy  day  an' 
hour  he  wuz  to  hev  been  mahied. 

' '  De  whole  country  come  to  de  fun'ral.  I  never 
seed  so  many  kerriges  an'  hosses  in  mah  life.  De 
Sinclairs  an'  de  Seymours  an'  Curtis 's  an'  Mor- 


A  Church   Yard  Story  61 

daunts  an'  ev'ybody  come.  Ginnul  Faulkner  an' 
liis  two  daughters  wuz  dah,  but  dey  nuvver  got 
outen  dey  kerrige.  Miss  Cora  kep'  to  her  baid 
an'  nuvver  see  Mister  Gerald,  an'  nuwer  went  to 
de  fun'ral. 

"Bout  two  weeks  arter  de  fun'ral  Miss  Cora 
walk  over  to  de  chu'ch  to  see  de  grave.  She  gin 
her  orders  dat  no  one  go  wid  her,  but  Ole  Miss' 
made  me  f oiler  her,  an'  stan'  off,  unbeknownst  to 
Miss  Cora,  to  tek  keer  o '  her  ef  she  need  me. 

*' Wen  she  come  to  de  grave  I  seed  her  fling  her- 
self right  down  on  it  an'  gin  dat  same  lonesome 
cry.  I  don'  t'ink  Miss  Cora  move  fur  one  hour, 
so  I  gits  up  an'  creep  close  an'  say, 

"  'Miss  Cora,  fur  de  Lawd's  sake  don'  kill  us 
all.    You  is  sholy  gwine  do  it  ef  you  tek  on  so.' 

*'Den  she  lif  herse'f  up  an'  tu'n  to  me  an'  say, 

'*  'Pompey,  mah  heart  is  broke.  You  mus'  all 
be  patient  wid  me  a  li'l  w'ile  till  God  gives  me 
strength.' 

' '  She  no  more  'n  say  dat  w  'en  she  th  'owed  her- 
se'f  on  de  grave  ag'in  wid  her  aims  'bout  it,  a 
cryin'  out, 

''  '0,  Gerald!  0  my  darlin'!  my  darlin'!  Can't 
you  speak  to  me?  Won't  you  ever  come  back  to 
me?    0,  my  God!  my  God!  how  can  I  stan'  it?' 

"  'Fore  I  could  say  a  thing  I  look  up  an'  hyer 
wuz  Ole  Miss'  comin',  an'  down  de  road  dah  wuz 


62  A  Church  Yard  Story 

de  kemge.  Ole  Miss*  sot  down  by  de  grave  an' 
took  Miss  Cora  in  her  arms,  laid  her  haid  on  her 
breas',  an'  kiss  her,  an'  talk  to  her  soothin'  fur  a 
long  time.  Bymby  dey  got  up  wid  me  foUerin' 
'em,  an'  got  in  de  kerrige  an'  druv  back  to  de 
house. 

''Arter  dat  Miss  Cora  order  dem  foh  urns  you 
see  yonder,  an'  dat  i'on  cheer  an'  w'en  she  got 
stronger  she  use  to  come  hyer  ev'y  day  an'  sit 
one  an'  two  hours  by  dat  grave.  Fur  nigh  on  to 
two  years  I  don'  think  Miss  Cora  miss  a  day  com- 
in'  to  dat  grave  an'  sittin'  in  dat  i'on  cheer.  She 
gin  orders  dat  nobody  f oiler  her,  but  ole  Miss' 
made  me  go  quite  frequent  at  firs'  kase  she  feel 
oneasy.  Hit's  been  now  'bout  thirty  year,  an'  I 
kin  see  Miss  Cora  yit,as  plain  as  if  it  wuz  yistiddy, 
in  her  black  dress  settin'  in  dat  cheer  wid  her 
cheek  on  her  han'  an'  her  eyes  fixed  on  dat  stone 

at  her  feet,  whut  kivered  de  man  she  love." 

******** 

As  Pompey  finished  his  story  the  sun  was  near 
the  western  horizon.  A  few  rays  of  golden  glory 
touched  the  tree  tops,  and  the  broken  summit  of 
the  church  tower;  but  the  woods  around  were 
filled  with  dusky  shadows.  The  church  looked 
more  ruinous  than  ever,  and  the  lonely  tomb  and 
vacant  chair  beside  it  were  invested  with  a  melan- 


A  Church  Yard  Story  63 

choly,  intensified  an  hundred  fold  by  the  narra- 
tion of  the  story  of  these  sundered  lives. 

We  both  stood  silently  looking  at  the  sepulcher 
with  the  four  urns  and  solitary  chair,  all  of  which 
were  plainly  visible  from  our  position.  It  re- 
quired but  little  effort  on  the  part  of  the  mind  to 
imagine  we  saw  the  black  robed  young  woman 
once  more  in  her  lonely  vigil,  who  had  so  often  and 
long  sat  there  in  other  years,  by  the  side  of, her 
dead  lover. 

Again  the  ''caw-caw"  of  a  crow  fell  on  my  ear 
as  he  winged  his  midair  flight  above  the  grove, 
toward  his  night  roost  in  the  distant  forest.  The 
mournful  note  brought  to  mind  the  thought  of 
Poe's  Raven,  and  that  bird's  drearj^  utterance  of 
' '  Nevermore. ' ' 

Taking  the  reins  of  my  horse  in  my  hand,  and 
preceded  by  Pompey,  I  walked  down  the  path, 
through,  and  out  of  the  grove,  to  the  better  lighted 
high  road  which  had  been  left  a  couple  of  hours  be- 
fore. As  I  placed  a  shining  silver  dollar  in  the 
negro's  hand,  off  went  his  ragged  hat  while  from 
his  lips  came  the  single  word, 

*'Sah!" 

This  I  knew  from  long  acquaintance  with  the 
negro  in  the  South  to  be  the  abbreviation  of  a 
fen-ent  "thank  vou,  sir." 


64  A  Church  Yard  Story 

Mounting  my  horse  I  noticed  my  companion  of 
the  afternoon,  as,  with  pleased  expression,  he 
turned  the  coin  over  several  times  and  looked  at 
it  from  various  angles.    Glancing  up  he  said, 

''Dinah  will  sho'  be  proud  ter  git  dis  dollar." 

''So,"  interrupted  I,  "you  got  Dinah,  and  Cae- 
sar didn't." 

"You  dun  tole  the  truf  now,  honey.  Dat  nigger 
Caesar  git  Dinah?  Shoo!  He  nuvver  stan'  no- 
whar  side  o'  me,"  and  Pompey  brought  out  a 
"kee-yaw-yaw"  that  scared  the  birds  out  of  the 
hedge. 

"I  suppose  you  brought  her  to  terms  in  some 
way. ' ' 

"Dat  I  did.  Boss.  Dar  I  wuz,  a  losin'  my  appy- 
tite  bouten'  her,  tell  I  jes  med  up  my  min'  I  wuzn' 
gwine  to  stan'  it  no  longer.  So  I  pent  her  up  in 
de  comer  o'  de  pantry  one  night  an'  axed  her  ef 
she  gwine  to  mah'y  me.  She  tole  me  I  bettah 
put  some  moh  ice  in  de  cooler  foh  Ole  Miss  git 
arter  me.  An'  I  sayd  a  yaller  gal  name'  Dinah, 
dun  funnish  me  wid  all  de  ice  I  wants  fur  my 
cooler  an'  ev'y  urrer  cooler  I  ever  seed.  Den  she 
try  to  run  pas'  me,  an'  I  kotch  her  as  she  go.  She 
pull  desprit  an'  say  she  got  to  comb  Miss  Cora's 
hair.  An'  I  say  Miss  Cora  dun  been  in  baid  er 
whole  hour.  Den  Dinah  say,  lookin'  out  de  cor- 
ners o'  her  eyes  at  me, 


A  Church  Yard  Story  65 

''  'What  you  say  you  want,  Pompeyr 

'*An'  I  say,  grippin'  her  tighter, 

*'  'I  want  you.' 

''An'  she  laugh  and  say, 

"  'I  sholy  think  you  got  me  without  axin.  Ain't 
you?'    An'  I  says, 

"  'I  means  fur  life.    Won't  you,  Dinah T 

"An'  she  bust  out  laughin'  an'  say, 

"  'Yes,  she  reckin  so,  as  hit  cain'  be  hep't.' 

"Den  I  gin  her  a  kiss  dat  she  say  soun'  all 
over  de  house,  an'  she  brek  away  fum  me.  I  axed 
her  whut  meks  her  pester  an'  aggervate  me  so 
all  dis  pas'  time,  an'  she  laugh  an'  show  dem  white 
teef  an'  say,  she  love  to  devil  me. 

"0,  yes,  suh,  me  an'  Dinah  dun  been  mah'ied 
mos'  thirty  ye'r." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  I  replied,  "but  there 
is  one  thing  I  wish  to  know  before  I  leave  you, 
and  that  is,  what  has  become  of  Miss  Cora  Dab- 
ney.    Is  she  still  living?" 

"Yes,  suh,  dat  she  is,  an'  mah'ied  an'  got  three 
chillun. ' ' 

"Well,  that  surprises  me,"  I  said,  "I  thought 
she  would  have  been  true  to  the  memorj^  of  the 
man  in  the  grave," 

"Lor',  suh.  Miss  Cora  never  want  to  mah'y. 
Her  heart  is  right  out  dar,  in  dat  tomb,  dis  blessed 
day." 


66  A  Church  Yard  Story 

''Why  did  she  marry,  then,"  I  asked. 

"Well,  suh,"  replied  the  negro,  leaning  upon 
the  fence  with  one  arm  on  the  top  rail,  ''Does 
you  speck  de  single  gemmun  gwine  let  sich  a 
fine  woman  as  Miss  Cora  scape  dey  fingers  ef 
dey  kin  he'p  it?  Naw,  sah,  preachers  an'  law- 
yers an'  doctors  all  tuk  arter  her;  but  Miss  Cora 
don'  pay  no  'tention  'tall  to  none  uv  'em. 

' '  Bymby  a  monst  'ous  fine  gemmun  come  f  um  Ole 
Virginny.  Ole  Miss'  knowed  all  his  folks.  Dey  wuz 
de  Dashleighs  whut  live  on  de  Jeems  River,  an' 
wuz  awful  rich.  His  county  sont  him  to  de  Legis- 
latur'  an'  he  hilt  his  own  wid  de  bes'  uv  'em  fur 
two  y'er.  Den  he  tuk  hizse'f  off  to  Noo  York 
an'  sot  up  in  law  up  dah.  He  had  some  big  case 
or  nuther  whut  brung  him  out  hyer  to  Jackson 
an'  he  run  out  to  see  Ole  Miss'  an'  Miss  Cora,  an' 
he  sholy  got  a  nurrer  case  on  his  ban's  de  instan* 
he  see  Miss  Cora.  He  come  w'en  Mister  Gerald 
Faulkner  done  been  kilt  moh'n  a  y'er.  I  see  fum 
de  firs'  he  wuz  pow'ful  tuk  wid  Miss  Cora;  but  she 
scacely  notice  him,  'cep'n  to  be  perlite  case  her 
Ma  knowed  all  his  folks.  He  wuz  monst 'ous  nice 
to  her  an'  brung  her  books  fum  town,  an'  flowers 
an'  music  an'  all  sich.  Den  he  tol'  her  pleasan' 
things  an'  try  to  mek  her  furgit  her  sorrer.  He 
sutny  work  fai'ful  on  dat  noo  case  o'  hisn.  He 
wuz'n  lak  Major  Sinclair,  whut  wanted  to  charge 


A  ChurcJi  Yard  Story  67 

right  over  Miss  Cora  lak  he  done  in  de  Rig'ment; 
but  Mistah  Dashieigh  sot  down  fur  a  rig'lar  siege. 

"He  had  to  go  back  to  Noo  York  fur  a  w'ile, 
but  bress  yoh  soul,  honey,  dat  Jackson  bus'ness 
done  git  so  'portan'  he  had  to  come  right  back. 
I  sholy  laugh  'bout  dat  Jackson  bus'ness,  kaze 
he  spen'  moh  time  a  comin'  an'  a  gwine  to  Miss 
Cora  den  he  gin  to  dat  Jackson  town. 

*'I  speck  six  mont's  done  gone  by  w'en  he  tole 
Miss  Cora  he  love  her.  I  nuvver  hyerd  him,  but 
Dinah  did.  She  wuz  dustin'  de  funniclier  in  de 
back  parlor  w'en  she  hyer  him  'spress  hizse'f  dat 
way.  Dinah  tol'  me  'bout  it,  an'  say  Miss  Cora 
gin  him  a  'No'  dat  sont  him  a  double  summerset. 
But  shoo!  dat  never  stop  dat  man.  He  jes  stay 
away  a  couple  o'  days  nussin'  his  woun's  an' 
come  ag'in  at  Miss  Cora  jes  as  perlite  as  ever, 
bringin'  her  some  moh  books  an'  flowers  an'  sich 
lak. 

''  'Twam'  long  arter  dis,  dat  Ole  Mistis'  health 
commence  decavin'  an'  den  she  died,  an'  Miss 
Cora  done  lef  by  herse'f  in  de  big  house.  How- 
somever,  one  o'  her  aunts  fum  Old  Virginny  come 
down  an'  stay  wid  her. 

''AH  dat  time  Mister  Dashieigh  make  hay  w'ile 
de  sun  shine.  He  hope  Miss  Cora  in  her  bus'ness 
an'  rid  to  dif'rent  places  fur  her.  I  notice  ho 
nuvver  tire  Miss  Cora  lak  Major  Sinclair  did.    He 


68  A  Church  Yard  Story 

knowed  when  to  come  an'  how  long  to  stay.  Den 
he  allers  wuz  so  kin'  an'  perlite.  Bymby  some  o' 
Miss  Cora's  frien's  an'  'lations  say  to  her, 

"  'Cora  chile,  whut  mek  you  live  sich  a  lone- 
some life?  Why  don'  you  mah'y  Mister  Dash- 
leigh  whut 's  dying  wid  love  fur  you  1 ' 

*'So  hit  all  come  'roun'.  One  day  w'en  Mister 
Faulkner  been  daid  an'  buried  two  ye'r,  Mister 
Dashleigh  speak  ag'in  to  Miss  Cora  'bout  his 
'stressed  state  o '  f eelin  's  fur  her.  Dis  time  I  hyerd 
Lim.  He  axed  Miss  Cora  to  walk  in  de  cunsuvva- 
tory  wid  him,  an'  I  stop  to  tie  my  shoe  close  to 
de  vahy  doh  whar  I  hyer  Major  Sinclair  tek  on 
so  in  de  'spressin'  o'  his  f eelin 's  dat  night.  So  I 
hyer  Mister  Dashleigh  tell  Miss  Cora,  as  solium 
as  w'en  he  make  dem  big  talks  to  de  Judge  an' 
de  ju'y  in  de  Cou't  House,  dat  he  love  her  as  he 
nuvver  love  anurrer  woman,  an'  dat  if  she  be  his 
wife  he'd  be  de  proudes'  man  in  de  worl'  an'  try 
his  bes'  to  mek  her  happy. 

''Arter  dat  I  nuvver  hyer  nothin'  fur  full  two 
minutes.  'Feared  lak  dey  mus'  hyer  my  heart 
thumpin'  'hin'  de  flower  shelves.  Den  Miss  Cora 
say,  slow  an'  sof, 

*'  'Would  j^ou  want  to  mah'y  a  woman  w'en  her 
heart  is  buried  in  de  grave  o'  anurrer  man?' 

''An'  Mister  Dashleigh  answer  quick  dat  he 


A  Church  Yard  Story  69 

wuz  willin'  to  'gin  wid  her  respec'  an'  dat  he  wuz 
sho  he  could  git  her  love  arter  while. 

"Den  I  hyer  Miss  Cora  gin  a  long  sigh,  an' 
lookin'  th'u'  de  bushes  I  see  'em  stan'in'  apart, 
he  wid  his  arms  folded  lookin'  at  her,  an'  she 
lookin'  down  at  a  ring  Mister  Faulkner  gin  her, 
an'  she  wuz  tu'nin'  it  'roun'  an'  'roun'  on  her 
finger. 

"At  las'  she  look  up  an'  say  dat  she  respec'  him, 
an'  hev  a  jinnywine  frien'ship  fur  him,— but  she 
doan  love  him.  Dat  her  heart  wuz  buried  in  de 
grave  o'  Gerald  Faulkner.  Dat  if  he  wuz  content 
to  tek  her  dis  way  she  would  mah'y  him.  Den 
she  hilt  out  her  han'  to  him,  an'  he  drapt  on  one 
knee,  lak  Major  Sinclair,  an'  press'  her  han'  to 
his  lips.  Dat  wuz  all.  Den  dey  walk  outen  de 
cunsuvvatory  togerrer.  I  tell  you,  'twuz  sorter 
cool  lak.  'Twarn'  lak  dat  monlight  night  I  see 
her  haid  drap  on  Mister  Gerald's  shoulder,  an' 
he  arms  go  'roun'  her,  an'  two  folks  look  lak  one. 
Naw,  suh,  'twarn'  lak  w'en  Dinah  'cepted  me  in 
de  pantry.  Dinah  made  out  she  want  to  git  away, 
but  I  kotch  her  vahy  easy  foh  she  retch  de  doh. 
Well,  women  folks  is  cur'ous,  anyhow,  ain't  dey. 
Boss?"  and  out  came  another  hearty  kee-yaw- 
yaw. 

"I  suppose,"  said  I,  interrupting  him  in  order 


70  .1  Church  Yard  Story 

to  bring  him  back  to  the  story,  ' '  that  they  finally 
got  married?" 

**Yes,  suh,  dey  wuz  mahied  in  a  few  mont's. 
Dey  had  a  vahy  quiet  weddin'  dey  call  it,  jes  a 
few  o'  de  neighbors  wuz  dar,— de  Seymours,  de 
Shelbys  an'  de  Carletons.  De  Faulkners  wuz  all 
in  Europe.  Arter  de  mahiage  seh'mony,  dey  lef ' 
de  same  day.  De  big  house  wuz  shot  up  an'  hit 
done  stayed  shot  up  ev'y  sence." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  moved  away 
and  never  came  back  ? ' ' 

''Yes,  sah,  das  so,  Dey  live  now  in  Noo  York 
City.  Miss  Cora  never  been  back  hyer  but  once,— 
dat  wuz  nigh  on  to  fifteen  ye'r  ago  an'  moh.  She 
an'  Mister  Dashleigh  an'  de  chillun  come  out  fum 
Medfiel'  in  kerriges  to  spen'  a  week,  Dey  had 
writ  dey  wuz  comin'  an'  we  had  de  house  aired 
fum  top  to  bottom,  fires  bumin'  in  de  rooms  an' 
ev'ything  lookin'  bright  an'  cheerful. 

"Wen  de  kem'ge  driv  up  to  de  doh  dah  wuz 
me  an'  Dinah  'rayed  in  our  bes'  cloze  to  welcome 
'em.  De  firs'  thing  dat  Dinah  did  wuz  to  kiss  de 
chillun,  an'  den  she  flung  her  arms  'roun'  Miss 
Cora  an'  bus'  out  cryin'.    Miss  Cora  say  to  her, 

**  'Is  dis  de  bes'  welcome  you  got  fur  me?'  but 
I  notice  her  own  voice  wuz  ur  shakin'.    Den  she 


A  Church  Yard  Story  71 

hilt  out  lier  liau'  to  me  an'  say,  jes  lak  her  ole  se'f, 

**  *Hyer  is  my  fai'ful  Pompey.' 

''  'Twuz  all  I  could  do  to  keep  fum  disgracin' 
myse'f  an'  bustin'  out  lak  Dinah,  but  I  hilt  in,  doh 
de  tears  wuz  rimnin'  down  my  face. 

"  'Peared  to  me  dat  Miss  Cora  wuz  han'somer 
'n  ever,  but  her  black  eyes  look  lak  sumpin'  wuz 
hurtin'  her  heart. 

''De  chillun  wuz  soon  rompin'  over  de  house, 
an'  Mister  Dashleigh  rid  out  over  de  plantation. 
Prezny  I  miss  Miss  Cora.  She  warn'  no  whar  to 
be  foun'  in  de  house.  I  had  to  go  over  to  my  cabin 
on  de  side  o'  de  hill  yonder  fur  sumpin',  an'  com- 
in'  back  I  tuk  a  nigh  cut  th'u'  de  orchid  an'  riz 
de  hill  whar  de  woods  roun'  de  big  house  come 
down  to  de  side  fence.  As  I  glance  up  I  see  Miss 
Cora  leanin'  gin  de  fence  an'  lookin'  cross  de  fiei' 
to'ard  dis  chu'ch  gi'ove  we  jes  lef.  She  nm^'er 
see  me,  so  I  squat  down  in  de  weeds  an'  watch  her. 
Her  arm  wuz  on  de  top  rail,  her  cheek  on  her  han' 
an'  her  eyes  wuz  fixed  on  de  grove.  I  knowed 
whut  she  come  down  dar  fur  an'  who  she  wuz 
'thinkin'  'bout.  I  knowed  she  wuzn'  thinkin' 
'bout  de  man  who  wuz  ridin'  over  de  plantation, 
but  'bout  de  man  who  wuz  lyin'  in  de  col' 
grave  'hin'  de  chu'ch.  She  look  so  lonesome  in 
her  black  hat  an'  dress,  way  down  dar  in  de  woods 


72  A  Church  Yard  Story 

by  herse'f  dat  I  thought  my  heart  would  sholy 
break.  'Peared  to  me  she  never  move  fur  a  ha'f 
hour,  but  kep'  lookin'  towards  de  ole  chu'eh  as  if 
she  couldn'  tear  herse'f  away.  Bymby  I  see  her 
put  her  face  on  her  arm  a  while;  den  she  look  up 
at  de  sky  a  minute,  an'  den  walk  slow  up  th'u' 
de  woods  to  de  big  house. 

*'Dat  night  she  nuvver  come  down  to  supper, 
an'  Mister  Dashleigh  say  dat  instid  o'  stayin'  a 
week,  his  wife  had  conclude  to  return  de  nex'  day, 
an'  dey  would  all  leave  in  de  mawnin'. 

**An'  so  dey  did.  De  kerriges  wuz  brung  out, 
an '  dey  all  got  in  an '  driv  off.  De  las '  'memb  'ance 
o'  Miss  Cora  dat  I  has  wuz  her  big  black  sorrerful 
eyes  at  de  kerrige  winder,  while  she  retch  out  her 
putty  white  han'  an'  say, 

^ '  '  Good-bye,  dear  ole  Pompey. ' 

'*Den  dey  driv  off  down  de  road,  whilst  me  an' 
Dinah  wuz  lef '  stan'in'  by  de  front  steps. 

*' Bymby  Dinah  say  to  me, 

*'  'Whut  mek  'em  leave  in  sich  a  hurry?  Ain' 
de  house  fine  'nough  sence  dey  been  to  Noo  York  ? ' 
An'  I  say  to  Dinah, 

**  'De  house  ain'  got  nuffin'  'tall  to  do  wid  it.* 
Den  arter  I  'lowed  Dinah  to  coax  me  some  time,  I 
up  an'  tol'  her  whar  I  seed  Miss  Cora  de  ev'nin' 
befoh,  lookin'  to'ards  Mister  Gerald  Faulkner's 
grave. 


A  Church  Yard  Story  73 

''Soon  as  I  say  dat,  Dinah  sot  right  down  on 
de  font  steps  an',  flingin'  her  white  ap'on  over 
her  haid,  she  bus'  out  cryin'  an'  goes  to  rockin' 
herse'f  back'ard  and  for'ard  an'  sayin', 

**  *Poh  chil',  poh  dear  honey,  poh  broken  heart- 
ed lam',  'tell  I  couldn'  see  nuffin  down  de  road  ur 
up  de  road  ur  nowhar  else;  an'  I  sot  down  on  de 

steps  by  Dinah  an'  we  cry  togerrer." 

******** 

My  own  eyes  were  full  at  the  simple  recital  of 
the  affectionate  servant  before  me.  Yet  I  had  one 
more  question  to  ask  him. 

''You  say  that  Miss  Cora,  or  rather,  Mrs.  Dash- 
leigh,  never  comes  back.  Has  she  forgotten  you 
and  Dinah  and  your  love  and  past  services  to 
her?" 

The  negro  instantly  straightened  himself, 
and  with  a  tender  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  glanced 
toward  the  "big  house"  and  then  back  at  me,  re- 
plied, 

' '  Miss  Cora  f urgit  me  an '  Dinah  ?  Naw,  sir-ree ! 
Why,  suh,  arter  de  war  close,  an'  we  wuz  all  sot 
free.  Miss  Cora  gin  us  dat  house  on  de  side  o'  de 
hill  yonder  an'  twenty  acres  o'  groun'.  Den  she 
sot  me  up  wid  a  boss  an'  a  mule  an'  two  cows 
an'  lots  o'  urrer  things.  An'  dat  ain'  all.  Dar 
ain'  a  Chris 'mus  comes,  suh,  but  she  'members 
us  wid  a  box  wid  things  in  it  fur  me  an'  Dinah. 


74  A  Church  Yard  Story 


Naw,  suh,  Miss  Cora  doan  furgit  us.  She  is  big 
hearted  lak  all  de  Dabneys.  Doan  you  think  dese 
is  my  bes'  cloze.  I  got  firs'  class  cloze  in  de  chis' 
at  home  whut  Miss  Cora  done  sont  me;  an'  so  is 
Dinah.  Naw,  suh,  Miss  Cora  doan  furgit  her  ole 
niggers.    De  Lawd  know  she  doan. ' ' 

Taking  the  hand  of  the  faithful  and  grateful 
negro,  I  bade  him  farewell  and  rode  away  in  the 
direction  of  Medfield. 

The  sun  was  now  completely  down.  The 
shadows  were  filling  the  valley  and  stealing  over 
the  broad  sedge  covered  fields.  I  had  still  eight 
miles  to  ride,  but  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to 
stop  a  few  minutes  and  look  back  from  the  top  of 
a  neighboring  eminence. 

I  could  see  Pompey  making  his  way  toward  his 
cabin  that  sat  now  in  full  view  before  me  on  the 
side  of  the  hill.  He  had  resumed  the  hymn  I  had 
interrupted  and  was  singing  his  way  up  the  path 
which  led  to  his  humble  home.  A  blue  line  of 
smoke  was  ascending  from  the  chimney,  proclaim- 
ing the  evening  meal,  while  a  female,  whom  I 
supposed  to  be  Dinah,  was  standing  in  front  of 
the  house  and  looking  down  the  road  for  the  ap- 
proach of  her  tardy  husband. 

From  this  scene  I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  Big 
House,  which  sat  as  Pompey  described,  ''all  shot 
up, ' '  on  the  forest  crowned  slope.    How  desolate  it 


A  Church  Yard  Story  75 

looked  with  its  closed  doors  and  windows,  and 
empty,  silent  yard!  I  thought  of  how  the  woods 
waved  in  richest  green  about  it  in  the  spring  and 
summer,  and  no  one  was  there  of  the  old  house- 
hold to  enjoy  its  shade  and  beauty.  In  the  fall 
and  winter  I  could  imagine  how  the  winds  tossed 
the  yellow  leaves  about  and  roared  through  the 
stripped  and  creaking  branches,  and  the  sound 
would  be  like  a  wail  over  the  bright  departed 
days,  and  for  the  vanished  foniis  which  once  lived 
and  loved  in  this  forsaken  dwelling,  but  now, 
were  gone  forever. 

My  eyes  then  fell  last  on  the  dark  grove  nearer 
to  me  in  which  were  the  ruined  church,  the  grave- 
yard, and  the  lonely  tomb  with  its  four  urns  and 
iron  chair  sitting  empty  by  its  side. 

Then  my  mind  took  a  swift  flight  to  a  far  dis- 
tant city  where  a  bereaved  heart  was  doubtless 
trying  to  meet  the  duties  and  burdens  of  life 
bravely  and  faithfully,  and  yet  bearing  all  the 
while  a  mental  load  which  she  could  not,  and 
would  not,  speak  of  to  another.  As  I  thought 
of  her  I  said  to  myself: 

"The  tomb  in  the  churchyard  is  lonely  and  for- 
saken, but  not  forgotten.  The  man  who  sleeps 
there  under  the  sod  is  actually  glorified  and  made 
to  live  on  by  the  beautiful  undying  love  of  this 
queenly  woman." 


76  A  Church  Yard  Story 

It  was  with  an  effort  I  finally  turned  away  from 
the  contemplation  of  scenes  which  held  me  with 
such  power.  In  a  little  while  the  gloaming  merged 
into  night,  and  under  the  quiet  stars,  along  hedge- 
lined  roads,  and  through  fields  of  yellow  whisper- 
ing sedge,  I  rode  silently  and  thoughtfully  back 
to  Medfield. 


THE  BALLANTYNES 


TT 


The   Ballantynes 


MR.  BALLANTYNE 

The  naming  of  the  children  by  his  wife  had  been 
a  great  grief  of  mind  to  Mr.  Ballantyne.  He  had 
regarded  the  choice  and  application  of  proper 
cognomens  to  his  immediate  descendants  as  one 
of  the  indisputable  rights  pertaining  to  the  male 
head  of  the  family.  He  was  equally  convinced  of 
his  superior  taste  in  such  a  selection,  when  lol 
Mrs.  Ballantyne  took  the  whole  matter  out  of  his 
hands,  or  rather  head,  and  named  them  all. 

Mr.  Ballantyne 's  original  expectation  had  been 
that  he  would  be  blessed  with  three  sons  and  as 
many  daughters.  His  intention,  in  keeping  with 
the  anticipation,  was  to  name  the  girls,  Faith, 
Hope  and  Charity,  and  the  boys  were  to  be  called 
after  three  great  generals,  or  three  of  the  prophets, 
or  three  of  the  patriarchs;  he  himself  inclining  to 
Abraham,  Isaac  and  Jacob. 

Two  things  utterly  broke  into  the  plan  of  Mr. 
Ballantyne,  who,  by  the  way,  was  very  much  given 

79 


80  The  Ballantynes 

to  day  dreaming.  One  of  these  colliding  facts  was 
that  the  hoped  for  trios  did  not  materialize,  but 
couples  appeared  instead.  So  he  had  more  names 
than  children. 

The  other  cause  has  already  been  intimated  in 
the  firm  will  and  way  of  Mrs.  Ballantyne.  She 
scouted  at  both  ideas;  saying  if  the  girls  were 
named  in  the  order  her  husband  mentioned,  even 
granting  they  were  three  in  number,  yet  it  would 
prove  a  positive  contradiction  of  Scripture,  which 
plainly  declares  that  the  greatest  of  the  three  is 
charity;  when  the  very  opposite  would  be  the  case 
in  their  family,  for  the  smallest  of  their  trio  would 
be  Charity.  Then,  she  argued,  as  they  had  only 
two  girls,  and  should  they  call  them  Faith,  and 
Hope,  everybody  would  be  asking  for  Charity; 
this,  to  say  the  least,  would  give  an  unfinished  air 
to  the  family,  besides  entailing  the  constant  con- 
fession that  they  had  no  Charity.  As  for  naming 
the  boys  after  the  patriarchs,  she  would  let  Mr. 
Ballantyne  know  that  she  did  not  propose  to  make 
herself  ridiculous  to  the  neighborhood  by  stand- 
ing in  the  back  door  every  day  and  calling  out 
*' Abraham!  Abraham!" 

But  this  was  not  all  that  actuated  the  mother 
of  the  Ballantyne  children  in  her  decision.  Be- 
ing of  a  poetic  nature,  a  highly  sentimental  turn 
of  mind,  and  fond  of  novels  of  the  love-sick  order, 


The  Ballantyncs  81 


she  in  the  fulness  of  her  heart  had  named  her  first 
daughted  Amanda  Malvina  and  her  second  re- 
ceived the  gorgeous  appellation  of  Seraphina 
Clementina,  the  heroine  in  a  ''yellow  back"  which 
had  greatly  impressed  her.  As  for  the  boys,  she 
had  them  christened  Walter  Scott  and  Oliver 
Goldsmith.  This,  as  has  been  said,  was  quite  an 
affliction  to  the  father,  but  as  he  was  an  individual 
of  a  buoyant  temperament,  as  well  as  of  a  very 
forgetful  mind,  he  soon  became  reconciled. 

Mr.  Ballantyne  was  quite  a  character  in  his  way. 
Besides  being  a  kind  of  mechanical  genius,  he  was 
a  fair  chemist,  and  always  peering  into  the  secrets 
of  the  one  and  laboring  on  the  strangest  contriv- 
ances as  to  the  other. 

There  was  no  need  for  him  to  be  handling  saws, 
planes,  gimlets,  screw  drivers,  crucibles,  retorts, 
etc.,  as  the  Ballantyne  income  was  a  good  one  from 
two  swamp  plantations.  But  the  man  had  the 
gifts  in  him,  and  so  fitted  up  in  a  wing  of  his  house 
two  rooms,  one  a  perfect  charpenter's  and  tinker's 
shop,  and  the  other,  a  regular  chemical  laboratory. 
When  not  in  one,  he  was  in  the  other,  and  when 
in  neither,  he  could  be  found  sitting  on  an  iron 
settee  on  his  front  gallery  lost  in  a  brown  study, 
with  legs  crossed,  walking  stick  balanced  on  the 
fore  finger  of  his  right  hand,  and  gazing  fixedly 
over  the  rim  of  his  spectacles  through  the  tree- 


82  The  Ballantynes 

shaded  lawn,  beyond  the  gate,  and  down  the  road, 
at— nothing! 

In  these  reveries,  he  was  usually  wrestling  with 
some  chemical  or  mechanical  problem.  He  had 
turned  out  a  few  patents  that  nobody  ever  used, 
wrote  some  learned  pamphlets  which  nobody  ever 
read,  while  it  was  well  understood  that  he  was  in 
full  pursuit  and  perfectly  confident  about  obtain- 
ing the  secret  of  Perpetual  Motion. 

During  Mr.  Ballantyne's  intense  reHections  or 
reveries,  it  was  very  difficult  to  arouse  him.  For 
years  the  family  had  realized  that  the  dining  room 
bell  was  an  inglorious  failure,  when  it  came  to 
summoning  him  to  a  meal.  It  required  repeated 
cries  close  to  his  ear,  and  sometimes  very  hearty 
shakings  of  the  shoulder,  before  the  abstracted 
man  could  recall  his  wandering  spirit,  center  his 
thoughts  on  objects  near  him  and  adjust  himself 
to  relations  and  duties  pertaining  to  this  present 
world  and  life.  His  far-away  absent-minded 
''Humph!"-''Hey!"-''What  did  you  say?"- 
"H-u-m-p-h-?",  while  very  entertaining  to  the 
outsider,  was  anything  but  amusing  to  members  of 
the  family.  The  arousing  of  Mr.  Ballantyne  from 
one  of  his  spells  of  abstraction,  was  like  recover- 
ing a  man  from  a  swoon,  and  sometimes  almost 
equal  to  the  resuscitating  of  a  person  who  had 
been  drowned.  Then,  like  as  not  when  Mr.  Ball  an- 


The  Ballantynes  83 

tyne  was  restored,  and  got  it  into  his  head  that  his 
presence  was  desired  at  the  breakfast  or  dinner  ta- 
ble, he  would  walk  in  and  sit  down  with  his  hat  on, 
and  straightway  forget  to  eat,  while  staring  fix- 
edly at  the  castors  or  out  of  the  window  at  the  dis- 
tant horizon.  Even  when  he  ate,  it  was  evident 
that  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  putting  into  his 
mouth.  It  was  also  noticeable  that  after  one  of 
these  profound  spells  of  thought  Mr.  Ballantyne 
would  be  unusually  busy  with  his  tools  in  his  little 
shop,  or  there  would  be  heard  faint  explosions  in 
the  laboratory,  followed  by  the  most  indescribable 
and  villainous  odors,  that  would  permeate  the 
whole  house.  Mrs.  Ballantyne  protested  in  vain, 
saying  that  ''she  just  knew  that  Mr.  Ballantyne 
was  going  to  blow  himself  and  the  whole  family  up 
some  fine  morning ! '  *  Wliy  she  selected  the  morn- 
ing for  the  explosion,  and  a  fine  morning  at  that, 
no  one  could  tell.  Her  prophecy  often  amused  her 
friends,  but  never  seemed  to  affect  her  husband. 
It  is  questionable  whether  he  heard  what  she  said, 
for  he  would  be  lost  in  thought  before  she  reached 
that  portion  of  the  stereotjT)ed  speech,  which  bore 
reference  to  the  family  excursion  through  midair, 
with  himself  as  a  kind  of  engineer. 


84  The  Ballantynes 

II 
MRS.  BALLANTYNE 

Mrs.  Ballantyne  was  ten  years  younger  than 
her  husband,  and  a  well  preserv^ed  woman  of  forty. 
When  a  young  lady,  she  was  quite  a  belle,  and 
noted  for  her  beauty.  There  was  a  tradition  in 
the  family,  which  she  saw  to  did  not  perish,  that 
when  a  blue-eyed,  golden-haired  girl  of  eighteen, 
she  was  standing  one  day  on  her  father's  veran- 
dah, and  a  gentleman  in  passing  happened  to  look 
up,  and  as  he  saw  this  vision  of  blue  and  gold  en- 
swathed  in  a  snow  white  summer  dress,  he  at 
once,  becoming  neglectful  of  his  steps,  stumbled 
and  fell  flat  upon  the  pavement,  while  the  words 
were  fairly  knocked  out  of  him: 

* '  Heavens !  what  a  beauty ! ' ' 

When  Mrs.  Ballantyne  related  this  twenty, 
thirty  and  even  forty  years  afterward,  and  to  au- 
ditors who  had  frequently  heard  the  pavement 
narration  before,  it  required  faithful  memories  of 
Chesterfield's  teachings,  and  the  deeper  lesson  of 
the  Golden  Rule,  to  summon  up  certain  convinced 
and  responsive  looks,  as  the  eye  took  note  of  the 
washed  out  blue  of  the  eye,  the  thinness  and 
grayness  of  the  quandom  golden  locks,  and  the 
peculiar  tinge  of  yellow  which  appears  in  the 
countenance  at  certain  stages  of  life. 


The  Ballantynes  85 

These  more  deeply  marked  features  of  increas- 
ing age  of  course  came  later,  but  Mrs.  Ballantyne 
fought  from  the  beginning  most  faithfully  against 
the  vanguard  of  the  invading  j^ears;  and  so,  by 
wearing  ringlets  on  the  side  of  her  face;  and  re- 
taining the  same  large  loop  earrings  which  she  had 
jingled  at  sixteen;  and  by  powdering,  painting, 
frilling  and  furbelowing;  by  avoiding  strong 
lights,  and  using  crimson  curtains  on  the  windows 
and  red  shades  on  the  lamp,  she  carried  on  quite  a 
successful  war  against  Time,  and  looked  at  least 
five  years  younger  than  she  was. 

One  rule  of  this  good  lady  was  never  to  leave 
her  couch  before  ten  in  the  morning;  and  she  had 
not  been  known  to  breakfast  with  the  family  for 
fifteen  j^ears.  She  began  to  arise  at  about  nine 
o'clock;  when  sitting  up  in  bed  she  dressed  her 
hair,  and  worked  on  her  complexion  and  counte- 
nance in  various  ways.  At  half  past  nine,  she 
received  her  morning  meal,  consisting  of  tea,  toast 
and  broiled  bird  or  chicken.  As  she  ate  slowly 
and  stopped  to  look  at  herself  quite  frequently 
with  a  hand  glass  by  her  side,  and  also  cast  a 
number  of  earnest  glances  in  a  large  miiTor  that 
confronted  her  on  the  wall,  the  breakfast  lasted 
from  a  half  to  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  At 
eleven  o'clock,  being  arrayed  for  the  day,  she 
glided  into  the  parlor,  and  wrote  poetry;  and  at 


86  The  Ballantynes 

noon  sang  love  ballads  in  a  weak,  little,  quavering 
voice,  while  accompanying  herself  on  a  thin  toned 
piano. 

Mrs.  Ballantyne  was  quite  a  faithful  church  goer 
in  her  way.  At  eleven  on  the  Sabbath,  when  the 
last  bell  would  be  ringing,  she  would  begin  to  get 
ready.  By  a  quarter  to  twelve,  she  swept  out  of 
her  front  gate,  picked  her  dainty  way  along  the 
primitive  pavements  of  the  village,  and  reached 
the  church  about  twelve,  when  the  congregation 
was  rising  to  sing  the  doxology.  For  years  she 
scarcely  varied  five  minutes  in  the  time  of  her  ar- 
rival. If  the  preacher  happened  to  expound  a 
little  longer  than  thirty  minutes,  she  obtained  his 
*  *  last  thought "  or  "  one  word  more. ' '  But  most  of 
the  time,  the  sennon  had  been  concluded,  so  that 
her  soul,  for  a  great  part  of  her  life,  had  for  its 
nourishment,  the  doxology,  and  the  benediction, 
both  very  good  indeed  in  their  way,  but  not  in- 
tended of  Heaven  to  be  the  main  pabulum  of  the 
spirit. 

In  days  not  the  Sabbath  when  Mrs.  Ballan- 
tyne's  hair  had  been  arranged,  breakfast  eaten, 
poem  written  and  ballads  played,  she  was  then 
ready  to  notice  her  children.  At  such  a  time,  if 
they  passed  through  the  hall,  and  as  it  happened 
often  in  a  most  neglected  condition  of  face,  hands, 
and  garments,  she  would  call  to  them,  dart  a  lev- 


The  Ballantynes  87 

ing  glance  upon  them,  and  say  in  a  roguish  man- 
ner, while  shaking  her  ringlets  and  loop  earrings: 

''Come  straight  here  to  your  Ma-zah." 

Just  why  Mrs.  Ballantyne  fastened  the  peculiar 
attachment  of  *'zah"  to  ''ma"  would  be  difficult 
to  tell.  It  was  perhaps  in  affectionate  playful- 
ness, a  kind  of  pet  temi;  but  it  was  noticeable  she 
never  used  it  until  the  hair  arrangement,  break- 
fast, poem,  and  ballad,  had  all  been  attended  to. 
Then  she  would  relax,  descend,  unbend,  and  press- 
ing one  of  the  young  Ballantyne 's  to  her  side 
would  ask: 

"Do  you  love  your  Ma-zah?" 
The  molasses  streaked  child  would  on  some  occa- 
sions, while  rendering  an  affirmative  answer,  grant 
a  sticky  embrace  and  kiss  to  his  mother,  who 
would  crj^ ' '  Heavens ! "  go  to  rubbing  her  cheek  or 
lawn  dress  with  her  handkerchief,  and  say: 

"Pack  yourself  off  this  instant  to  Kitty  and 
tell  her  I  say  to  wash  your  face  and  put  on  a  clean 
apron. ' ' 

Oft'  would  shoot  the  young  hopeful,  but  not  to 
Kitty;  nor  did  the  mother  ever  follow  to  see  if 
her  commands  had  been  obeyed. 

Sometimes,  when  unusually  gracious,  she  would 
say: 

"Run  and  kiss  your  Pa-zah." 

But  "Pa-zah,"  that  is,  Mr.  Ballantyne,  would 


88  The  Ballantynes 

likely  as  not  be  in  one  of  his  brown  studies  in  the 
iron  settee  on  the  porch,  and  a  kiss  aimed  at  and 
implanted  on  his  cheek,  nose  or  partially  bald 
head,  no  more  affected  him  than  it  would  have 
stirred  a  man  who  was  sound  asleep,  or  had  been 
knocked  senseless. 

Fortunately  for  the  children,  when  Mr.  Ballan- 
tyne  was  in  one  of  his  spells  of  thought,  Mrs.  Bal- 
lantyne  would  be  herself,  so  to  speak;  and  when 
she  would  be  composing  a  poem  and  mooning 
around  with  her  eyes  floating  in  a  kind  of  mist,  he 
would  come  down  from  the  stars  and  walk  on 
earth  awhile.  This  happy  arrangement,  which  must 
have  been  providential,  kept  the  children  from 
being  more  than  half  orphans  at  a  time.  Never- 
theless, there  were  days  when  there  was  a  con- 
junction of  planets,  and  both  would  wear  a  dazed 
look,  he  struggling  with  some  mechanical  or  chem- 
ical problem,  and  she  undergoing  the  mental  birth 
pangs  of  a  poem.  These  were  the  times  when  the 
servants  and  children  could  do  what  they  would, 
and  no  more  notice  be  taken  of  their  confusion 
and  uproar  than  the  average  American  citizen  in 
his  business  absorbed  life  bestows  on  electrical 
storms  raging  ninety  millions  of  miles  away  on  the 
face  of  the  Sun. 

The  breakfast  or  dinner  hour  of  the  family,  once 
having  been  beheld  by  an  outsider,  would  never 


The  Ballantynes  89 


])e  forgotten.  It  required  several  servants  to  wait 
on  the  children  in  their  early  days,  as  they  fussed, 
stormed,  bawled,  and  had  their  way  generally, 
while  Mr.  Ballantyne,  wrapped  in  meditation, 
gazed  at  the  castors  and  seemed  perfectly  obliv- 
ious of  the  uproar.  If  it  was  the  morning  meal, 
Mrs.  Ballantyne  at  that  moment  would  be  sitting 
up  in  bed  two  or  three  rooms  away  complacently 
surveying  in  a  hand  mirror  her  completed  ringlets 
and  complexion ;  and  if  it  was  the  dinner  hour,  she 
posed  at  the  foot  of  the  table  a  vision  of  lilac  and 
purple  ribbons,  and  looked  in  smiling  indifference 
upon  the  whole  clamorous  scene  before  her;  that 
is,  if  she  saw  it  at  all.  Sometimes  there  were  indi- 
cations that  a  poem  was  on  the  docks,  and  again 
there  were  signs  which  led  to  the  suspicion  that 
the  mistress  of  the  mansion  was  entertaining  im- 
aginary company. 

There  were  occasions  in  the  domestic  reign  of 
Mrs.  Ballantyne  that  were  specially  prized  by  her, 
and  where  she  who  had  merely  sparkled  before 
would  then  fairly  blaze. 

One  was  a  great  company  dining,  where  the  par- 
lors were  thronged  with  guests,  and  the  air  filled 
with  gay  laughter,  the  buzz  of  conversation,  the 
notes  of  the  piano,  and  the  usual  stereotyped  out- 
cries at  fhe  conclusion  of  some  tremulously  rend- 
ered song— ''How  beautiful!"     "Perfectly  love- 


90  The  Ballantynes 

lyP»  <<0h,  don't  stop."  "Do  give  us  just  one 
more!"  etc. 

Another  side  of  tlie  great  household  occasion 
was  the  presence  of  several  extra  cooks  in  the 
kitchen.  Bettie,  the  chief,  was  in  her  glory  and 
looked  like  a  general  as  she  issued  her  many 
orders  in  a  loud  voice  in  the  midst  of  slamming 
stove  doors,  and  falling  billets  of  wood,  threaten- 
ing to  brain  a  half  dozen  youngsters  who  impeded 
her  way,  while  the  steam  and  vapor  from  pans 
and  ovens,  encircling  her  head,  stood  for  the  smoke 
of  the  battle. 

In  the  **Big  House"  there  was  an  unusual  num- 
ber of  negro  women  with  white  aprons  and  parti- 
colored bandanas  on  their  heads.  Some  were  the 
regular  trained  sen^ants  of  the  home,  and  others 
had  been  brought  up  from  the  plantation  to  meet 
the  present  need.  This  difference  made  occasion 
for  frequent  open  rebuke,  as  well  as  secret  pride 
with  the  ** regulars,"  as  they  would  stumble  on 
the  ** raw  recruits,"  and  find  them  motionless,  gaz- 
ing in  open  eyed  and  open  mouthed  astonishment 
and  admiration  at  the  muslins  and  silks,  the  low 
necks  and  short  sleeves,  the  outstanding  crinoline, 
and  all  the  other  bewildering  fineiy  of  the  occa- 
sion. 

Until  the  Ballantyne  children  grew  up  they  had 


The  Ballantynes  91 

to  be  scoured  and  dressed  for  the  hour.  And  such 
faithful  attention  did  they  get  in  the  bathroom 
that  their  ears  were  red  as  beets  for  most  of  the 
evening,  while  the  white  duck  trousers  and  broad 
pantelettes,  so  stood  out  with  unyielding  starch, 
that  the  garments  actually  seemed  to  support 
their  wearers.  Mr.  Ballantyne  was  also  made 
ready  for  the  festival,  and  would  appear  in  a  black 
suit,  richly  figured  vest,  and  a  large  cravat  encirc- 
ling an  equally  large  collar.  Mr.  Ballantyne  gen- 
erally seemed  in  doubt  as  to  what  he  was  attend- 
ing, and  therefore  soon  sinking  into  one  of  his 
reveries,  his  personal  appearance  suggested  a  fun- 
eral; and  later  when  the  huge  knot  of  his  cravat 
slipped  around  under  his  left  ear,  as  it  always  did, 
tlie  vision  in  its  hint  to  the  observer  was  still  more 
startling. 

Mrs.  Ballantyne  knew  nothing  whatever  about 
housekeeping,  but  was  blessed  with  first-class  ser- 
vants who  had  mastered  or  mistressed  every  mys- 
tery of  the  kitchen  and  dining  room.  They  knew 
all  things,  from  the  preparation  of  the  most  diffi- 
cult and  choicest  Southern  dishes,  to  the  folding 
of  immaculate  napkins  into  the  daintiest  as  well 
as  most  remarkable  shapes.  So  all  the  consort  of 
Mr.  Ballantyne  had  to  do  was  to  entertain  in  the 
parlor,  and  sit  radiant  as  a  queen  at  the  head  of 


92  Tlie  Ballantynes 

the  table,  blissfully  certain  that  everything  would 
come  out  all  right,  and  another  company  dinner 
victory  be  scored. 

And  so  things  would  and  did  come  out  all  right, 
barring  those  accidents  that  are  said  to  take  place 
in  the  best  regulated  families. 

But  surely  it  was  a  sight  worth  seeing  to  behold 
the  folding  doors  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  Mrs. 
Ballantyne  with  ringlets,  loop  earrings  and  smiles 
all  in  motion,  heading  the  procession,  leaning  on 
the  ann  of  Col.  Bowser,  a  man  with  round,  florid 
face,  gray  mutton  chop  side  whiskers,  courtly  in 
manners,  and  owning  one  of  the  finest  cotton  plan- 
tations in  the  State.  Then  when  the  laughing, 
buzzing  throng  had  taken  their  places  at  the  table, 
with  a  dim  perspective  of  ebony  faces  at  a  dis- 
tant window ;  how  full  of  ease  and  grace  was  Mrs. 
Ballantyne  as  she  dished  out  oyster  soup  with  a 
large  silver  ladle  left  her  by  her  grandmother. 
Several  gentlemen  would  be  firing  remarks  at  her 
from  both  sides  of  the  table  at  once,  but  she  had 
smiles  and  apt  replies  for  them  all,  while  her  gold 
earrings  shook  and  the  silver  ladle  flashed  in  and 
out  of  the  milk  in  search  for  the  regulation  num- 
ber of  oysters  for  each  plate. 

It  seemed  that  one.memorable  evening,  some  of- 
ficious new  kitchen  hand  had  abstracted  a  num- 
ber of  the  tempting  bivalves,  so  that  Mrs.  Ballau- 


The  Ballantynes  93 

tyne  was  fishing  in  vain  for  them  after  the  first 
half  dozen  guests  had  been  helped.  A  colored 
damsel  of  twelve,  caught  up  hastily  to  fill  the  va- 
cancy among  the  waitresses,  became  exceedingly 
interested  in  the  voyages  of  discovery,  and  planted 
her  black  face  and  woolly  head  just  over  Mrs.  Bal- 
lantyne's  shoulder,  unknown  to  that  good  lady, 
though  observed  by  some  of  the  highly  amused 
company.  Just  then  a  single  oj^ster  floated  to  the 
surface,  when  the  diminutive  African,  with  ex- 
panding eyes,  cried  out  in  a  voice  that  first  elec- 
trified and  afterwards  convulsed  the  whole  party, 

' '  Dars  one,  Miss ! ' ' 

Amid  all  the  laughter  of  the  company,  and  the 
sudden  retirement  in  disgrace  of  the  oyster  finder, 
how  polite  were  the  guests,  who  warmly  insisted 
that  they  preferred  the  soup  without  the  oysters, 
and  how  charming  was  Mrs.  Ballantyne  as  she 
emerged  from  behind  her  lace  handkerchief  in  that 
state  so  well  known  in  the  society  world  as  blended 
confusion  and  self-possession. 

Then  on  that  identical  night,  after  the  meats 
and  vegetables  had  been  removed,  and  the  dessert 
was  in  order,  who  should  come  wandering  in  but 
the  youngest  son  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ballantyne,  a 
lad  of  thirteen,  and  who  had  received  the  famous 
name  of  Oliver  Goldsmith.  He  had  been  told  to 
wait  for  the  second  table,  but  an  hour  is  a  weary 


94  The  BaUantynes 

while  for  a  hungry  boy,  especially  when  a  *' com- 
pany dinner"  is  on  hand.  So,  against  the  domestic 
rule  and  regulation,  and  in  face  of  the  maternal 
injunction,  he  walked  in  as  the  waiters  were  deftly 
whisking  their  brushes  over  the  damask  table 
cloth,  and,  standing  in  front  of  the  large  side- 
board, which  was  loaded  down  with  an  array  of 
fruits,  wine  bottles,  frosted  cakes,  colored  gela- 
tines, and  an  immense  cut  glass  dish  containing 
Island  Float,  he  clasped  his  hands  and  suddenly 
and  loudly  apostrophised, 
''Oh,  Float!  I  could  eat  a  thousand  of  you!" 
Of  course  there  was  considerable  merriment 
over  this,  and  Oliver  was  promptly  banished  for 
the  time  being,  but  not  until  Mr.  Snipes,  a  very 
grave  looking  young  man,  with  a  long,  thin  coun- 
tenance, and  wearing  a  single  eye  glass,  had  been 
filled  with  such  uncontrollable  mirth  that  he 
sucked  a  cnimb  of  bread  down  his  windpipe,  was 
escorted  out  on  the  back  gallery  by  two  gentle- 
men friends,  and  a  sympathetic  old  lady,  and  had 
an  abundance  of  water  given  to  him,  and  an 
equally  liberal  supply  of  knocks  applied  vigor- 
ously to  his  back,  until  he  found  or  confessed  that 
he  found  relief. 

When  Mr.  Snipes  returned,  feeling  recovered  in 
a  measure,  his  first  glance  around  was  for  Oliver; 
and  every  time  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  lad,  it  was 


The  Ballantynes  95 

sufficient  to  set  him  off  in  something  that  resem- 
bled a  cross  between  a  spasm  and  a  case  of  apop- 
lexy. He  seemed  to  regard  the  child  as  a  great 
natural  curiosity. 

But  Mrs.  Ballantyne  must  not  be  forgotten. 
Another  occasion  in  which  she  shone  to  the  high- 
est advantage  and  illumined  the  whole  family 
horizon  and  regions  beyond,  was  when  her  numer- 
ous friends  and  relatives  came  to  visit  them  for  a 
few  days  or  weeks;  and  there  would  originate  and 
develop  in  that  time,  a  real  love  affair.  Then  it 
was  that  the  mistress  of  the  Ballantyne  mansion 
wa"fe  in  her  full  glorj^  If  there  was  anything  that 
she  could  manage,  it  was  matters  of  the  heart  per- 
taining to  others,  from  the  beginning  of  the  love 
sickness  to  its  final  end  in  separation,  or  consum- 
mation in  marriage.  If  there  was  anything  on 
earth  she  liked  to  do  next  to  dressing  her  hair  and 
eating  breakfast  in  bed,  it  was  to  make  matches. 
It  is  true  that  some  of  these  couples  fell  away  from 
her  afterward  and  seemed  to  entertain  a  kind  of 
grudge  against  her,  but  that  in  no  wise  impaired 
the  gifts  of  Mrs.  Ballantyne,  or  discontinued  their 
practice  upon  others. 

If  misunderstandings,  quarrels,  and  partings 
took  place  between  the  lovers  instead  of  the  more 
prosaic  marriage,  Mrs.  Ballantyne  then  fairly  ex- 
celled   herself.      These    agitating    occurrences 


96  The  Ballantynes 

brought  out  still  other  accomplishments  and  excel- 
lences of  the  good  lady,  and  her  touch  would  rest 
on  a  dozen  different  reins  as  she  guided  the  chariot 
of  the  case  in  hand  to  the  place  she  desired.  There 
would  be  a  strange  and  yet  pleasing  mystery  all 
about  the  house.  Mrs.  Ballantyne  would  be  seen 
whispering  to  a  score  of  different  people  all  in  one 
morning.  Buzzings  were  heard  in  side  nooks  and 
comers,  as  well  as  in  the  hall  and  on  the  veranda. 
Notes  passed  frequently  of  the  most  secret 
nature,  though  there  was  reason  to  believe  that 
everybody  read  them  before  nightfall.  Tears  were 
shed.  Messengers  came  and  went.  Somebody, 
perhaps  the  rejected  suitor  or  discarded  lover, 
went  tearing  down  the  road  on  horseback.  The 
young  lady  went  to  bed.  An  odor  of  smelling 
salts  penetrated  the  parlor.  A  dry  sob  was  heard. 
Mystery  and  misery  brooded.  Eyes  were  swollen. 
Rings  and  packages  were  returned.  Ladies  would 
come  out  of  dark  rooms,  entwine  each  other's 
waists  with  their  arms  and  whisper,  ''How  sad." 
A  gentleman  was  observ^ed  in  a  trellised  arbor  to 
pull  his  hair,  or  start  to  do  it.  Negroes  were  kept 
on  the  jump,  and  horses  had  no  rest.  Guests  dallied 
at  the  meals,  but  ate  on  the  whole  as  much  as  ever. 
One  young  lady,  however,  burst  into  tears  at  the 
table,  and  had  to  be  led  away  by  two  of  her  com- 
panions.   Still  another  with  a  dreamy  expression 


The  Ballanty7ics  97 


was  heard  saying  to  a  j^oung  man  that  ''she  had 
never  loved  a  dear  gazelle. ' ' 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  doings  and  undoings, 
this  indescribable  combination  of  love,  mystery, 
heartaches,  and  all  kinds  of  happenings,  Mrs.  Bal- 
lantyne  was  in  her  glory.  If  things  grew  common- 
place, interest  languished  and  exhaustion  set  in, 
it  would  only  require  the  presence  of  this  remark- 
able lady  for  a  few  minutes  here  and  there,  and 
lo!  the  flames  were  fanned,  heat  was  on  again, 
sighs,  tears  and  whispers  would  be  multiplied, 
more  mysterious  notes  be  written,  and  utterances 
in  dark  comers  and  at  the  end  of  the  porch 
abound. 

It  was  also,  at  such  a  time  as  this,  that  Mrs.  Bal- 
lantyne  was  enabled  to  write  her  most  affecting 
poems  about  billow  and  pillow,  spoken  and  broken, 
sever  and  never,  fair  and  dispair,  knell  and  fare- 
well. 

There  are  many  other  things  that  could  be  told 
about  the  polished,  hospitable,  and  versatile  wife 
of  the  absent-minded  Mr.  BallantAnie;  but  the 
limits  of  this  story  will  not  allow  the  indulgence. 
Nevertheless  they  are  all  written  in  the  chronicles 
of  the  Ballantyne  family. 


98  The  Ballaritynes 

III 

THE  YOUNG  BALLANTYNES 

Before  the  Civil  War,  Sontkemers  might  name 
their  children  as  they  would,  but  few  such  appel- 
lations escaped  a  beheading,  reheading  and  often 
entire  change  at  the  hands  of  the  family  servants. 
One  of  the  prerogatives  assumed  and  tacitly 
granted  the  slave  in  the  South  was  this  accolade 
touch  and  bedubbing  process  by  which  a  nick- 
name was  given  a  child  instead  of  his  own.  Few 
could  get  rid  of  them,  the  rule  being  that,  barnacle- 
like,  they  clung  to  their  owners  through  the  whole 
voyage  of  life. 

As  for  the  parents  and  relatives  of  the  victims, 
it  was  utterly  vain  to  struggle  against  the  trans- 
forming process  going  on  right  before  their  eyes 
and  ears;  useless  to  laugh  and  say  it  is  perfectly 
preposterous  to  give  such  a  name;  and  lost  time 
to  get  mad,  box  the  servants'  jaws  and  vociferate, 
*'My  child  shall  not  be  called  by  any  such  absurd 
and  outlandish  title!"  The  re-designating  act 
would  take  place  in  spite  of  all  that  might,  could, 
should  and  would  be  done,  and  so  thoroughly 
that  often  friends  and  acquaintances  of  the 
family  never  knew  the  real  name  of  the  child. 
An  additional  fact  of  surprise  was  that  the  par- 
ents  themselves   at   last   fell   into   the   use   of 


The  Ballantynes  99 

the  terms  given  by  the  negi'o  sponsors,  and  the 
beautiful,  elegant  cognomens  of  Edwin,  Ger- 
ald, Blanche  and  Grace,  would  utterly  disap- 
pear, and  the  strange,  grotesque  verbal  applica- 
tions of  "Ripper,"  "Snorter,"  "Coon,"  "Pos- 
sum," "Boots,"  "Horse,"  "Dan  Tucker,"  and 
many  others  like  them  would  take  their  place  and 
remain  victors  in  the  field.  It  was  as  though 
another  Civilization  had  been  wiped  out,  and  a  set 
of  Goths  and  Vandals  with  shaggy  hides  and 
wooden  bludgeons  were  stalking  around  amid  the 
ruins,  in  lieu  of  the  inhabitants  whom  they  had 
slaughtered. 

The  names  given  by  Mrs.  Ballantyne  to  her 
children  were,  as  has  been  mentioned,  Walter 
Scott,  Oliver  Goldsmith,  Amanda  Malvina,  and 
Seraphina  Clementina.  But  a  strange  retribution 
was  upon  her,  for  as  she  had  treated  her  husband, 
so  now  her  servants  rendered  unto  her  full  meas- 
ure, shaken  together,  pressed  down  and  running 
over.  The  classic  and  sentimental  titles  she  had 
selected  with  such  care  were  utterly  ignored  and 
set  aside  by  the  negroes,  both  at  the  house  and 
on  the  palntation,  and  in  their  stead  appeared  the 
commonplace  and  ordinaiy  names  of  "Boo  and 
Bud,"  "Sis  and  Miss." 

Boo  was  a  contraction  of  Boots.  The  circum- 
stance fastening  this  highly  elegant  expression 


100  The  Ballantynes 


upon  the  boy  being  his  possession  of  a  pair  of  little 
red-topped  l30ots,  in  which  he  took  such  pride  and 
stalked  around  with  so  lordly  an  air  that  the  ser- 
vants all  united  in  calling  their  inflated  owner 
first  Bootsey,  afterwards  shortening  it  to  Boots, 
and  finally  to  Boo.  Thus  perished  Walter  Scott, 
the  Second. 

Oliver  Goldsmith  went  down  before  the  prosaic 
teiTU  of  Bud.  Of  course,  when  the  second  son  was 
born,  he  became  little  brother,  next  brudder,  then 
buddy,  and  finally  Bud.  So  Oliver  was  Budded, 
if  not  butted  out  of  the  household. 

Amanda  Malvina  was  captured  by  Mrs.  Ballan- 
tyne  from  the  Children  of  the  Abbey,  with  the 
intent  of  making  her  a  fixture  in  their  own  house- 
hold, but  through  the  aforesaid  African  lips,  she 
was  transmigrated  or  metamorphosed  into  plain 
*'Sis." 

Seraphina  Clementina  was  a  name  entirely  too 
long  and  difficult  for  the  descendants  of  Ham,  and 
so  the  little  one  had  hardly  appeared  before  the 
footlights,  and  made  her  bow  as  Seraphina,  when 
the  hands  of  the  servants  were  laid  upon  her, 
changed  her  verbal  drapery,  and  she  was  greeted 
on  her  reappearance  as  ''Little  Mistiss."  Later 
on  this  costume  was  cut  shorter  to  ' '  Missie, ' '  and 
still  later  Seraphina  settled  down  to  the  business 
of  life  in  the  narrowed  garb  of  ' '  Miss. ' ' 


The  Ballantynes  101 


What  a  havoc  was  here!  What  an  evolution, 
not  to  say  devolution!  Let  the  reader  think  of 
brigands  and  robbers  going  into  a  man's  home 
and  taking  away  parts  and  portions  of  one's  chil- 
dren until  all  were  gone  and  some  mud  images 
were  left  instead.  Or  if  this  is  too  strong,  think 
of  a  Dog  Catcher  anned  with  authority  coming 
into  the  house  day  after  day  and  taking  off  sec- 
tions of  the  ears  and  tails  of  pet  Newfoundlands 
and  Spaniels  until  nothing  but  stubs  of  the  animals 
themselves  remained. 

But  no  matter  how  it  tried  the  feelings,  the  facts 
existed ;  the  new  brands  birnied  in,  and  the  absurd 
names  abided.  The  Ballantyne  children  grew  up 
to  manhood  and  womanhood,  but  they  never  out- 
grew the  titular  honors  conferred  on  them  by 
their  own  slaves.  They  were  Boo'd  and  Budded, 
and  Sissed  and  Missed  all  the  days  of  their  lives. 

Boo  fell  heir  to  the  long,  slender  legs  of  his 
father  and  his  nasal  way  of  saying  *'Ah-h,"  and 
*'H-u-m-p-h."  He  had,  also,  a  great  way  of  get- 
ting into  all  kinds  of  trouble.  If  there  was  a  pool 
of  water  within  a  mile  of  the  place,  he  would  fall 
into  it.  If  there  was  a  nest  of  yellow-jackets  any- 
where in  that  part  of  the  country,  Boo  found  them. 
They  also  found  Boo. 

Bud  was  a  nondescript.    There  was  little  Intel- 


102  The  Ballantynes 

leetuality  about  him,  and  yet  be  bad  been  named 
Oliver  Goldsmitb. 

Sis  secured  ber  mother's  faded  blue  eyes,  cork- 
screw ringlets,  affected  shake  of  the  head  and  so- 
ciety simper. 

Miss  inherited  the  maternal  gift  of  poesy,  so 
that  even  at  fifteen,  she  was  known  to  sit  on  the 
slope  of  the  bill  in  the  dew,  gaze  at  the  crimson 
West,  and  then,  with  a  moody  look,  go  off  to  her- 
self in  the  library  and  write  something  about 
^'sunset  bars"  and  ''far  off  stars";  about  ''sigh" 
and  "nigh";  about  "weep"  and  "sleep";  "bliss" 
and  "kiss";  also  "dove"  and  "love." 

Miss  wrote  a  sonnet  when  she  was  sixteen  that 
was  reported  to  be  exceedingly  affecting;  but  there 
was  but  one  copy,  and  this  single  piece  of  manu- 
script was  caught  in  a  heavy  shower  of  rain,  while 
in  the  side  pocket  of  a  gentleman's  coat  who  had 
surreptitiously  taken  it  with  the  intention  of  read- 
ing it  alone  at  home. 

On  bringing  it  to  the  light,  it  was  discovered 
that  the  rain,  in  connection  with  the  heat  of  the 
gentleman's  body,  had  soaked  up  and  destroyed 
the  entire  poem  with  the  exception  of  the  last  word 
in  each  line.  These  are  reproduced  with  great 
gladness  that  the  Public  might  know  for  itself 
how  much  was  lost  to  the  world  in  the  absorption 
by  the  elements  of  this  poetical  gem.  The  surviv- 
ing words  plainly  indicate  its  beauty,  force  and 


The  Ballantynes  103 

originality.  The  water  line  is  also  exhibited  so  as 
to  show  how  deep  the  moisture  penetrated.  To 
the  Fancy,  this  wavering  boundary  appears  as  the 
margin  of  an  engulfing  sea,  while  the  rescued 
words  in  a  row,  stand  like  sunavors  on  the  beach 
after  a  great  storm,  castaway— but  saved  I 

Here  it  is  minus  ink  blurs  and  water  discolora- 
tions,  as  it  was  restored  to  the  family  after 
the  warm  summer  afternoon  shower.  The  title 
will  have  to  be  guessed  at,  as  that  was  entirely 
washed  out.  Some  one  affirmed  that  it  was  '*To 
One  I  Love,"  but  Miss,  with  many  blushes,  de- 
clared she  had  never,  could  never,  and  no,  never 
would  tell  that  part  of  the  poem  to  any  one.  This 
is  the  fragment, 


104  The  Ballantynes 

Miss  was  entreated  to  rewrite  the  poem  for  the 
benefit  of  her  friends,  if  not  for  posterity,  but  she 
replied  with  a  pensive,  far-away  smile  that  she 
''could  never  recall  what  were  plainly  bursts  of 
inspiration,  coming  from  some  peculiar  complex- 
ity of  situation  or  condition  of  heart. "  ' '  No, ' '  she 
continued  with  a  sigh  as  she  raised  her  ivory  fan 
to  hide  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  "I  could  never  recall 
that  sonnet.  Like  the  horns  in  elf-land  faintly 
blowing,  it  comes,  is  heard,  dies  away  and  is  gone 
forever. ' ' 

All  the  Ballantyne  children  inherited  the 
mother's  fondness  for  music,  so  that  the  piano 
knew  no  rest  from  morning  until  night,  and  often 
from  night  until  almost  morning  again. 

When  Boo  had  played  the  accompaniment  to  the 
solitary  song  he  knew,  "Thou  hast  learned  to 
Love  Another, ' '  and  sung  the  piece  twice  through 
with  his  gosling  voice;  then  Bud  came  in  and 
thumped,  ' '  Old  Jim  Crow, ' '  and  ' '  Chicken  in  the 
Bread  Tray."  After  this.  Sis  sailed  in  and  made 
the  strings  fairly  hum  and  quiver  with  "The 
Maiden 's  Prayer. ' '  When  she  retired.  Miss  glided 
to  the  music  stool  and  wailed  about  "The  Lonely 
Bird." 

In  the  afternoon,  Boo  tried  his  hand  again ;  Bud 
presented  his  everlasting  "Chicken  in  the  Bread 
Tray";  then  came  Sis  with  "The  Maiden's 
Prayer";  and  finally  Miss  with  the  Bird. 


The  Ballantynes  105 


In  the  middle  of  the  day,  Mrs.  Ballantyne  played 
and  sang,  *'Tlie  Origin  of  the  Hai^),"  in  a  thin, 
quavering  voice,  and  as  she  proceeded  with  the 
melancholy  narrative,  would  cross  her  hands  over 
the  keys,  an  accomplishment  highly  thought  of  in 
the  ''Fifties,"  or  just  before  the  War. 

The  fact  that  the  South  was  getting  ready  to 
cross  hands  in  a  very  different  way  with  people 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Mason  and  Dixon  line  in- 
vested this  musical  grace  and  performance  with 
something  of  a  prophetic  air.  Anyhow,  let  that 
be  as  it  will,  the  point  made  here  is  that  the  Bal- 
lantyne piano  was  grievously  vexed  by  living 
spirits.  It  had  but  little  rest  at  night,  and  abso- 
lutely none  in  the  day.  As  its  vitals  were  torn 
from  early  mom  until  deep  in  the  night,  it  could 
truly  have  said, ' '  I  am  tormented. ' ' 


IV 

MR.  BALLANTYNE'S  INCREASING  AB- 
STRACTION 

''It  is  very  evident  to  my  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Bal- 
lantyne, "that  if  Mr.  Ballantyne  doesn't  blow 
himself  and  all  the  rest  of  us  up,  one  of  these  fine 
mornings,  witb  those  jars,  pots  and  machinery  of 


106  The  BaUantynes 

his  in  the  shop,  then  he 's  going  to  get  so  deep  set 
in  one  of  his  brown  studies  that  he  will  never  come 
out  of  it." 

The  occasion  of  this  vigorous  remark  was  that 
on  that  very  morning,  a  man  had  been  hallooing  at 
the  gate  in  front  of  the  house  for  fully  five  min- 
utes, while  Mr.  Ballantyne  sat  on  the  galleiy  in 
full  view  of  the  person,  and  never  seemed  to  be 
aware  of  his  presence  or  heard  a  single  sound  of 
his  stentorian  calls.  There  he  was,  sitting  cross- 
legged,  with  walking  cane  balanced  on  his  finger, 
gazing  over  the  upper  rim  of  his  spectacles  down 
the  road,  in  the  most  placid,  vacant  faced  way,  as 
if  no  excited,  crimson-faced  individual  was  just  in 
front  waving  his  hand  and  vociferating,  ''Hello 
the  house!" 

He  did  well  in  saying,  "Hello  the  house,"  for 
the  man  of  the  house  never  heard  a  word.  All  this, 
of  course,  was  quite  trjdng  to  the  party  who  was 
endeavoring  to  secure  attention,  for  the  very  ap- 
pearance of  Mr.  Ballantyne  seemed  to  indicate  a 
perfect  indifference  to  the  call,  caller  and  the 
whole  affair.  The  man  thought  he  was  ignored 
when  he  simply  was  not  perceived,  and  was  be- 
ing gazed  through  into  space  and  regions  far  be- 
yond. 

It  was  only  a  few  mornings  after  this  occur- 
rence, that  Mr.  Ballantyne  took  his  accustomed 


The  Ballantynes  107 

place  on  the  iron  settee,  crossed  his  legs,  balanced 
his  stick  evenly  on  his  right  forefinger,  lowered 
his  chin  and  commenced  gazing  over  his  spectacles 
down  the  road  at  nothing.  The  tremulous  motion 
of  the  right  foot  gave  the  left  limb  a  gentle  ride. 
His  hat  was  set  back  on  his  head,  and  the  whole 
attitude  was  that  of  profound  meditation. 

At  this  moment.  Boo,  who  was  always  getting 
into  trouble,  could  find  nothing  better  to  do  than 
to  fall  in  a  well,  forty  feet  deep,  in  the  back  yard. 
Immediately  there  was  a  great  shriek,  and  clamor 
among  the  servants.  Some  rushed  for  ladders, 
and  ropes,  some  ran  to  the  neighbors  for  they 
knew  not  what,  others  did  nothing  but  scream, 
while  a  negro  boy  of  fifteen,  bareheaded,  bare- 
footed and  with  scant  apparel  on  his  person,  flew 
to  tell  Mr.  Ballantyne,  who,  quietly  sitting  on  the 
gallery,  had  not  heard  a  note  of  the  uproar. 

Unfortunately  for  Boo,  his  mother,  sisters  and 
Bud,  had  all  gone  to  the  main  county  town  that 
day  in  the  carriage,  so  that  Mr.  Ballantyne  was 
the  only  one  of  the  family  to  receive  the  report  of 
the  misfortune,  and  he  was  in  a  brown  study.  But 
the  boy,  rushing  up  the  steps  in  front  of  the  ab- 
sorbed man,  cried  out  loud  enough  to  be  heard  a 
block  away: 

*'01e  Marster!  ]\rars  Boo,  sah,  done  tumbul  in 
de  well!" 


108  The  Ballantynes 

''H-u-m-p-li!"  said  Mr.  Ballantyne,  in  an  in- 
quiring bumble-bee  kind  of  voice. 

* '  Mars  Boo  done  fell  in  de  well,  Ole  Marster. ' ' 

"Who's  that  calling,"  asked  Mr.  Ballantyne,  in 
a  far-away  tone,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy 
and  the  pucker  on  the  forehead  showing  that  he 
was  grappling  with  some  kind  of  problem,  and  had 
utterly  failed  to  take  in  what  was  being  yelled 
at  his  elbow.  So,  with  the  bumble-bee  note,  he  re- 
plied, 

' '  Who 's— that— calling— me  ? ' ' 

"Hits  me  er  callin'  you.  Mars  Tom.  Hits  yaller 
Bob's  little  boy,  Jim.  Doan  you  know  Jim?  Hits 
me— Jim— Mars  Tom— er  tellin'  you  Mars  Boo's 
in  de  well. ' ' 

"What— did— you— say?'^  asked  Mr.  Ballan- 
tyne, still  wondering,  but  evidently  making  a 
great  effort  to  come  back  to  earth. 

"Laws— a— mussey!  Mars  Boo,  sah.  He  done 
fall  haid  f omus  in  de  well,  sah.  He  done  drowndid 
by  dis  time,"  cried  the  boy,  now  fairly  blubber- 
ing and  wiping  his  wet  cheeks  and  overflowing 
eyes  with  his  ragged  sleeve. 

"Who's  in  the  well?"  queried  Mr.  BallantjTie, 
now  evidently  coming  back  to  life,  and  its  sur- 
roundings.   ''Who  did  you  say  was  in  the  well?" 

"j\rars  Boo,  sah,"  sobbed  the  now  loudly  weep- 
ing boy,  while  he  stamped  around  almost  beside 


The  Ballantynes  109 

himself.    "Mars  Boo  done  drap  in  de  well,  sah, 
and  he  done  daid,  sah,  by  dis  time,  sah." 

"What!"  cried  the  now  thoroughly  aroused 
father,  as  he  rose  up  and  took  long  strides  toward 
the  well,  with  his  alpaca  sack  coat  fluttering  in 
the  wind  behind,  "A\Tiy  didn't  you  tell  me  be- 
fore?" 

"I  is  done  tole  yer  er  hundid  times,  sah,  en  yer 
nuvver  hy  'erd  me. ' ' 

By  this  time  the  whole  yard  was  in  the  greatest 
excitement,  noise  and  confusion.  Screams  and 
wails  abounded,  while  the  ser\^ants  were  gathered 
around  the  well  with  brooms,  hoes,  rolling  pins, 
and  every  other  needless  thing  which  they  could 
lay  their  hands  upon. 

While  much  vociferation  and  exclamation  filled 
the  air,  together  with  loud  questions  and  answers 
as  to  how  the  boy  got  in,  Mr.  Ballantyne  arrived 
on  the  scene,  with  Jim  at  his  heels,  leaned  over 
the  curbing,  and  gazing  down  the  dark  depths, 
cried, 

"Bootsey,  are  you  there?" 

Perhaps  no  one  but  Mr.  Ballantyne  would  ever 
have  put  the  anxiety  and  trouble  of  the  occasion 
in  such  a  verbal  shape.  Examined  critically,  it 
was  a  needless  question,  for  there  was  no  other 
place  for  Boo  to  be  but  at  the  bottom  of  the  well, 
inasmuch  as  he  had  just  fallen  in,  and  no  one  as 


110  The  Ballantynes 

yet  had  pulled  liiui  out,  and  furthennore,  there 
was  no  mode  of  egress  in  the  other  direction 
toward  China. 

To  the  great  joy  of  all,  a  voice  ascended  from 
the  bottom  of  the  well,  forty  feet  below,  declaring: 

''Yes,  Father,  I'm  here." 

In  due  time.  Boo  was  hauled  up,  sitting  astride 
of  the  bucket,  with  no  harm  done  him,  marvellous 
to  say,  beyond  the  infliction  of  some  blue  and  black 
bruises  on  his  body.  It  seems  that  he  had  been 
peering  into  the  dark  well  like  his  father  did  into 
chemical  and  mechanical  mysteries,  when  he  lost 
his  balance  and  fell  in;  but  as  he  was  falling,  he 
caught  the  rope,  and  as  this  sped  out  on  the  re- 
volving windlass,  his  fall  was  broken  somewhat, 
and  thereby  his  life  was  saved. 

In  twenty  minutes  from  the  time  of  the  reap- 
ance  of  Boo  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  Mr.  Ballan- 
tyne  was  on  the  front  porch,  legs  crossed,  stick 
balanced,  and  eyes  gazing  over  his  spectacles 
down  the  road  at  nothing  and  nobody. 


V 
THE  END  OF  THE  BALLANTYNES 

It  all  befell  as  Mrs.  Ballantyne  had  predicted 
many  times  it  would,  Mr.  Ballantyne  did  really 
blow  himself  up.     Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  her 


The  Ballantynes  111 


prophecy  and  constantly  expressed  certainty  of 
its  coming  fulfillment,  the  good  lady  was  very 
much  shocked  when  the  disaster  finally  took  place. 

Mr.  Ballantine  had  become  more  and  more  ab- 
sorbed in  his  meditations ;  his  brown  studies  grew 
browner;  his  obsei'\^ations  profounder;  so  that 
one  day  he  walked  into  a  bee  hive,  and  at  another 
time,  plunged  into  an  empty  cistern  that  was  un- 
dergoing repairs,  and  did  a  number  of  other  ab- 
sent-minded things  which  made  even  his  best 
friends  say  he  needed  not  only  a  guardian,  but  a 
nurse  and  keeper. 

He  capped  the  climax  one  day  by  sticking  a 
lighted  candle  in  the  mouth  of  a  large  tin  can  con- 
taining an  explosive  oil.  Perhaps  the  shape  of 
the  vessel's  neck  suggested  the  idea  of  a  candle- 
stick to  Mr.  Ballantyne,  so  that  when  the  thought 
engrossed  being  inserted  the  candle  in  the  bell- 
shaped  mouth,  the  burning  light  fell  through, 
there  was  an  awful  explosion,  one  side  of  the  room 
was  torn  out,  and  the  unfortunate  man  instantly 
killed. 

Mrs.  Ballantyne  went  into  deep  mourning,  wrote 
on  paper  and  envelopes  that  had  a  black  border 
nearly  an  inch  deep,  and  spent  hours  in  lauding 
Mr.  Ballantyne  to  the  skies,  where  it  is  to  be  hoped 
he  had  already  gone.  It  certainly  would  have  as- 
tonished him,  however,  could  he  have  retunied 


112  The  Ballantynes 

and  heard  "what  a  considerate  husband  he  had 
been";  how  '*ne  was  tne  best  of  men";  how  *'he 
lived  for  his  family";  and  how  "his  main  thought 
had  been  to  please  her. ' ' 

Then  would  come  fresh  gushes  of  tears,  more 
sighing  and  shaking  of  the  head,  and  the  solemn 
assertion  that  "few  women  ever  had  such  a  hus- 
band as  she  had  possessed";  which  last  statement 
was  very  true  indeed,  and  would  have  been  con- 
tradicted by  no  one  who  knew  Mr.  Ballantyne. 
After  this  would  follow  the  usual  closing  clause 
of  the  oft-repeated  speech  of  sorrow,  that 

"She  never  expected  to  see  another  man  like 
Mr.  Ballantyne— never!— never!— never!  That  no 
one  need  say  anything  to  her  to  the  contrary. ' ' 

But  no  one  said  anything  to  the  contrary.  The 
conviction  with  everybody,  reaching  even  to  a 
cordial  agreement,  was  that  there  was  no  one  like 
Mr.  Ballantyne. 

After  fifteen  years  of  canonizing  her  husband, 
and  like  a  certain  church,  making  him  a  saint  in 
the  other  world,  whether  he  was  ever  one  on  earth 
or  not,  Mrs.  Ballantyne  herself  fell  on  sleep,  and 
was  laid  by  his  side  in  a  country  burial  ground 
near  the  old  church,  where  they  had  first  seen  each 
other,  attended  protracted  meeting  together,  and 
at  last  were  joined  for  life  by  the  white-haired 
pastor  in  the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony. 


The  Ballantynes  113 

Miss  continued  to  write  poetry  whose  line  ter- 
minals were  mainly  ''gleaming"  and  "beaming," 
"pining"  and  "twining,"  "sighing"  and  dying." 

One  afternoon  she  had  been  called  on  to  recite 
one  of  her  most  sentimental  pieces  in  which  the 
concluding  words  were  "soon"  and  "moon," 
"hair"  and  "despair,"  "years"  and  "tears," 
"gloom  and  "tomb."  The  company  was  much 
affected,  and  evidently  so  was  the  reciter  herself, 
for  she  hurriedly  retired  to  conceal  her  emotion, 
doubtless  in  some  alcove  of  the  house  or  shadowy 
nook  in  the  garden.  But  only  a  minute  afterwards 
a  neighboring  wealthy  young  planter,  who  had 
been  much  impressed  with  the  poetess,  the  poem, 
and  its  touching  rendition,  becoming  thirsty,  was 
escorted  by  Bud,  who  always  did  the  wrong  thing, 
into  the  dining  room  to  get  a  drink  of  water. 
When  lo!  and  behold!  there  at  the  uncleared  din- 
ing table  sat  Miss  with  a  large  dish  of  turnip 
greens  and  bacon  before  her,  of  which  she  was 
most  heartily  partaking,  with  the  assistance  of  a 
fork  in  one  hand  and  a  piece  of  com  bread  in  the 
other. 

Be  it  far  from  the  author  to  reflect  in  any  wise 
upon  that  good,  old-fashioned  dish  of  which  our 
fathers  and  forefathers  partook  before  the  more 
aristocratic  spinach  came  into  vogue.  Further- 
more, he  would  not  have  it  presumed  a  moment, 
that  he  would  insinuate  that  there  is,  or  should 


114  The  Ballantynes 

be,  any  necessarj^  antagonism  between  the  gush- 
ings  of  the  sentimental  nature,  and  the  reception 
into  the  same  person  of  turnip  greens  flanked  with 
bacon  and  corn  bread.  Stony  facts,  alone,  in  this 
chapter  are  being  dealt  with:  and  one  of  these 
granite  happenings  was,  that  there  was  then  and 
there  in  the  dining  room  a  most  unmistakable 
tableau. 

The  unfolding  beau  actually  had  the  discourtesy 
to  grin,  and  Miss  without  the  presence  of  mind  to 
offer  him  a  part  of  the  dish  or  make  out  that  she 
was  just  tasting  the  strange  vegetable  to  see  if  she 
liked  it,  or  to  find  out  what  it  was;  Miss,  it  is  re- 
peated, was  first  speechless,  and  then  straightway 
vanished. 

Perhaps  a  poem  to  be  called  ''A  Fragment," 
might  assist  the  mind  right  here  in  taking  in  what 
happened  then  and  soon  afterwards.  But  as  the 
whole  matter  is  delicate  and  painful,  only  the  last 
words  of  the  *' Fragment"  shall  be  given.  They 
are  ''blush"  and  "rush,"  "alone"  and  "groan," 
"Bud"  and  "thud,"  "slap"  and  "rap," 
"crossed,"  "tost"  and  "lost." 

The  beau,  from  a  foolish  inability  to  recognize 
the  harmony  between  sentiment  and  vegetables, 
never  came  back.  But  other  suitors  came,  Miss 
rallied,  and  finally,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  and 
several  years  after  the  close  of  the  Civil  War 


TJie  Ballantyncs  115 

married  a  man  in  the  Soap  Business.  This  gentle- 
man did  not  deal  in  Fancy  Toilet  articles,  but  in 
soft  soap  altogether.  He  had  discovered  a  cheap 
method  of  compressing  the  liquid  substance  into 
enduring  bars  and  thereby  made  a  fortune. 

Miss  ceased  to  write  poetry  after  her  marriage, 
and  always  manifested  a  great  antipathy  to  turnip 
greens.  She  confided  to  her  society  friends  the 
fact,  as  she  brushed  a  speck  from  her  silk  dress, 
that  their  odor  always  sickened  her;  that  she  was 
so  delicately  constituted  that  she  could  not  even 
endure  the  smell  of  boiled  cauliflower. 

Her  social  circle  cordially  agreed  with  her,  and 
one  in  her  enthusiasm  came  very  near  saying  that 
the  scent  of  cabbage  and  greens  was  as  disgusting 
to  her  as  the  odor  of  a  Soap  Factory,  when  she 
caught  herself  just  in  time,  and  ended  suddenly 
with  the  words, 

''Of  course— bj^  all  manner  of  means." 

It  might  be  well  to  say  that  Miss  is  still  living. 

Sis  had  two  soldiers  to  propose  to  her  in  1863, 
one  of  whom  had  lost  an  arm,  and  the  other  a  leg, 
in  battle.  For  quite  a  while,  she  could  not  tell 
which  of  the  two  she  preferred. 

She  was  a  bright,  mischievous  girl  and  would 
reason  and  argue  with  all  apparent  seriousness  to 
her  friends  about  the  merits  and  demerits  of  the 
cases,  as  represented  in  the  two  applicants  for  her 


116  The  Ballantynes 

hand,  and  would  pretend  to  weigh  the  compara- 
tive advantages  of  possessing  an  armless  or  leg- 
less husband.  One  day  she  saw  the  two  leaning 
against  each  other  as  if  it  required  both  to  keep 
a  standing  position.  From  her  angle  of  view,  she 
saw  three  legs  in  a  row  beneath,  and  three  arms 
above,  while  the  two  bodies  seemed  to  be  merged 
into  one.  In  expressing  herself  to  intimate  friends 
about  it  afterwards,  she  said : 

''They  looked  spidery;  and  made  me  think  of  a 
centipede.  I  couldn't  think  of  marrying  either 
one  after  that  sight. ' ' 

To  them  she  had  the  sauciness  if  not  the  heart- 
lessness  to  say,  it  took  both  of  them  to  make  one 
man,  and  she  wanted  for  herself  a  whole  individ- 
ual when  she  married. 

Perhaps  the  speech  brought  a  retributive  judg- 
ment down  upon  her.  In  1864,  she  met  a  dashing 
young  officer  to  whom  she  engaged  herself.  He 
went  to  the  "front"  and  in  the  next  battle  lost  one 
of  his  eyes.  He  wrote  her  word  about  the  pain- 
ful affliction,  and  she  replied  cheerily  that  it  was 
all  right;  that  she  had  two  and  they  could  get 
along.  In  the  second  battle,  his  arm  was  shot  off 
by  a  shell.  As  soon  as  he  could,  he  acquainted  Sis 
with  the  loss.  But  very  cordial  and  comforting 
was  her  response,  that  she  accepted  what  was  left. 

In  the  fourth  battle,  his  right  leg  was  so  badly 


The  Ballantynes  117 


shattered  by  a  minnie  ball,  that  it  had  to  be  ampu- 
tated. In  his  bulletin  to  Sis,  the  young  officer 
stated  that  he  seemed  to  be  leaving  the  world  by 
sections,  and  that  there  was  so  much  less  of  him 
than  when  he  first  proposed  to  her,  fully  a  third 
of  himself  being  in  the  grave,  that  he  considered 
it  his  duty  to  give  her  the  opportunity  of  cancel- 
ling the  engagement  and  marrying  a  man  who  had 
more  than  two-thirds  of  his  body  above  ground. 

Her  reply  by  the  next  mail  was  original,  cheer- 
ing and  very  reassuring.  She,  after  expressing 
great  sympathy  for  his  sufferings,  added, 

"As  long  as  there  is  enough  of  you  to  be 
propped  up  before  the  preacher  and  make  re- 
sponses, I  will  marry  that  part." 

He  lost  nothing  more  of  his  physical  structure, 
and  came  home  with  great  militarj^  honor  at  the 
close  of  the  War,  having  been  promoted  to  a 
Majorship  for  gallantry  on  the  battlefield.  His 
first  work  was  to  remedy  defects  made  by  balls 
and  bullets  as  far  as  possible,  and  then  secondly 
to  marry.  So,  with  a  glass  eye  so  natural  that 
one  could  hardly  tell  it  from  the  true  one;  and 
with  an  artificial  ann  and  leg  that  worked  easily 
and  lightly  without  creaking;  and  with  a  nice 
tailor-made  suit  covering  all  and  fitting  well,  he 
looked  the  gallant  man  that  he  was,  bore  off  his 
blushing  bride  to  a  home  he  had  prepared,  and 


118  The  BaUantynes 

did  more  for  her  in  material  comforts  than  many 
husbands  can  afford  who  have  two  eyes  and  the 
whole  complement  of  physical  members. 

Boo,  who  had  inherited  his  father's  proclivity 
to  fall  into  various  things,  and  started  it  as  a  boy 
by  tumbling  into  a  forty-foot  well,  kept  up  the 
practice  after  he  drew  his  share  of  the  property 
and  moved  away  to  a  distant  State.  Every  report 
which  came  back  represented  him  as  having  had 
some  new  fall,  one  into  bad  company,  another  into 
gross  misconduct,  a  third  into  debt,  a  fourth  into 
poverty,  a  fifth  from  the  back  of  a  ininaway  horse, 
and  a  sixth  into  the  grave. 

Bud,  after  squandering  his  part  of  the  patri- 
mony, roamed  around  first  among  his  relatives 
and  friends,  and  then  among,  strangers  in  a  shift- 
less, thriftless  kind  of  way,  and  finally  astonished 
everj^body  by  marrying  a  rich  widow,  ten  years 
older  than  himself.  As  it  proved,  he  never  did  a 
wiser  and  better  thing,  for  the  woman  really  loved 
him  and  saw  that  he  wanted  for  nothing.  His  old 
favorite  piece  of  music,  "Chicken  in  the  Bread 
Tray,"  had  come  true  at  last.  Bud  being  the  chick- 
en, and  the  widow  furnishing  the  Bread  Tray. 
Nor  did  she  stop  at  that,  but  her  influence  was  so 
powerful  and  excellent  that  she  made  Bud  give 
up  all  of  his  evil  ways,  join  the  church,  and  trans- 


The  Ballantynes  119 

formed  him  into  what  the  world  calls  a  good  man. 

So  it  came  to  pass,  as  is  often  the  case  in  the 
South,  that  the  entire  family  disappeared.  The 
plantation  had  long  before  been  sold,  and  the 
homestead  years  afterward  followed  suit  and 
passed  into  the  hands  of  strangers. 

For  quite  a  while,  the  Mansion,  with  its  waving, 
sighing  trees  about  it,  remained  the  same,  so  that 
at  night  when  the  windows  shone  brightly,  and 
some  one  touched  the  keys  of  a  piano  inside,  one 
could  almost  believe  that  Sis  had  glided  in  and 
was  about  to  give  us  "The  Maiden's  Prayer,"  or 
Miss  would  treat  us  to  a  tremulous  rendition  of 
'*The  Lonely  Bird." 

But,  no!  the  touch  on  the  keys  was  different, 
and  the  pieces  were  dissimilar.  And  it  could  not 
be  so  anyhow,  for  the  people  who  once  lived  under 
the  rooftree  were  now  widely  scattered  on  earth, 
and  some  were  in  the  other  world. 

The  old  trees  on  the  lawn  and  in  the  yard  con- 
tinued to  reach  out  their  branches  and  sigh,  as  if 
they  missed  their  former  owners.  They  seemed 
to  be  wondering  what  had  become  of  the  grave, 
thoughtful  faced  man  who  used  to  sit  on  the  gal- 
lery and  gaze  fixedly  for  hours  through  their  vis- 
tas into  space.  And  where  were  the  laughing, 
romping  boys  who  were  wont  to  frolic  under  their 


120  The  Ballantynes 

shade,  and  swing  in  their  branches!  They  never 
came  back,  and  so  the  trees  grieved  and  mourned 
about  it. 

Finally  the  day  arrived  and  another  stranger 
came  and  bought  the  old  Ballantyne  Mansion. 
Being  of  a  very  practical  utilitarian  turn  of  mind, 
this  new  comer  and  owner  cut  down  all  of  the 
shrubbery  with  its  wilderness  of  roses,  next 
plowed  up  the  lawn,  and  planted  it  in  turnips  and 
potatoes.  Still  later,  he  sawed  the  house  in  two 
sections  and  moved  both  portions  several  hundred 
yards  away  down  the  hill  by  the  branch,  and 
rented  them  out  to  colored  people. 

His  last  act  was  to  bring  in  some  wood  choppers 
and  level  the  beautiful  grove  with  the  dust.  So 
scores  of  forest  monarchs  of  oak,  beech  and  pine, 
that  had  flung  their  protecting  shadows  over 
three  generations  of  the  Ballantyne  family;  that 
had  seen  a  nation  rise  to  its  feet  in  1861,  and  go 
down  in  smoke,  blood  and  ruin  in  1865 ;  that  had 
beheld  still  further  back  and  witnessed  the  plumed 
Indian  warrior  court  his  dusky  bride  under  their 
shadows,  and  disappear  with  the  gleam  of  the 
rifle  and  axe  of  the  white  man;  these  same  grand 
old  trees,  full  of  the  secrets  of  the  past,  were  cut 
down  and  turned  into  cord  wood. 

It  would  be  difficult  for  one  to  realize  now  as 
he  glances  over  the  denuded  hillside,  all  covered 


The  Ballantynes  121 

with  truck  gardens  and  a  field  of  billowy  com, 
that  up  there  once,  was  one  of  the  many  beautiful 
and  typical  homes  of  the  South.  Nevertheless,  it 
stood  there,  lovely  for  situation,  famous  for  its 
hospitality,  and  equally  celebrated  in  the  fact, 
that  the  cordial  spirit  of  the  household  was  only 
surpassed  by  the  refreshing  originality  of  the 
family. 


A  STRANGE  HOMESTEAD 


123 


A   Strange   Homestead 


My  cousin,  Mrs.  Amy  Balfour,  had  been  looking 
for  a  certain  kind  of  dwelling  for  several  days. 
She  had  gone  up  avenues  and  had  come  down 
streets  and  cut  across  squares,  but  after  a  week's 
search  was  no  nearer  success  than  at  the  begin- 
ning. The  houses  that  were  desirable  were  al- 
ready occupied,  and  the  few  which  were  unin- 
habited were  too  small,  or  too  large,  or  too  far 
out,  or  too  near  in,  or  too  something  that  pre- 
cluded all  idea  of  renting. 

But  my  cousin  was  a  woman  not  easily  discour- 
aged. She  distinguished  between  weariness  of 
the  body  and  sinking  of  the  spirit.  The  first  she 
could  not  prevent,  but  the  second  she  would  not 
tolerate.  She  came,  as  she  had  been  known  to  say 
more  than  once,  of  good  stock,  not  a  coward 
among  the  men,  and  all  the  women  true  daughters 
of  noble  sires.  Her  father  was  known  as  Col. 
Something  Lindsay,  I  forget  his  given  name.  He 
had  distinguished  himself  in  a  war,  but  which 
one  I  do  not  now  remember,  whether  Mexican  or 
Indian;  and  I   also  fail   to   recall   how   he  dis- 

125 


126  A  Strange  Homestead 

tingnislied  himself.  He  either  surrounded  three 
Mexicans  or  Indians,  or  they  surrounded  him; 
and  he  either  cut  his  way  through  them  or  they  cut 
their  way  through  him,  I  do  not  remember  which, 
and  it  really  does  not  matter,  for  they  are  all 
dead  now,  the  Colonel,  the  Mexicans  and  the  In- 
dians. 

The  only  point  I  would  make  is  that  when  Col. 
Lindsay  died  he  left  his  plucky  spirit  to  his  one 
daughter,  together  with  an  old  gully-washed, 
sedge-covered  plantation,  and  the  saber  he  had 
used  in  that  war,  the  name  of  which  I  am  so  sorry 
I  have  forgotten. 

In  due  time  my  cousin  married,  and  after  a 
few  years  was  left  a  widow  with  the  privilege  of 
taking  care  of  herself;  her  husband  having  pre- 
ferred to  run  through  with  what  he  owned,  be- 
fore he  should  go  hence  and  be  no  more.  The 
widow's  income  from  the  gully  washed  place  was 
four  bales  of  cotton  a  year.  This  amount  evi- 
dently needed  supplementing,  so  my  cousin  for 
several  years  had  taken  boarders,  and  making  a 
success  of  it  in  a  small  house,  was  now  seeking  to 
lengthen  her  cords  and  push  out  her  stakes  in  the 
shape  of  a  larger  domicile. 

It  was  near  the  hour  of  sunset  when  she  sud- 
denly came  upon  the  ver^-  house  she  desired.  It 
was  a  three-story  brick  residence    sitting    back 


A  Strange  Homestead  127 

from  the  street  and  occupying  almost  the  center 
of  the  lot.  In  front  was  a  yard  without  grass  or 
walks,  in  which  several  forest  trees  swayed  and 
sighed.  On  one  of  them  was  tacked  up  a  pla- 
card, ''For  Sale  or  Rent."  To  the  right  was  a 
kitchen  garden  utterly  gone  to  weeds,  and  on  the 
left  was  an  orchard  in  just  as  melancholy  a  con- 
dition. 

There  was  a  large  forlorn  looking  back  yard 
with  several  out  houses  that  were  empty  and 
falling  to  ruin.  One  of  them  had  a  sunken  foun- 
dation in  front,  and  appeared  to  be  going  down 
on  its  knees  like  a  camel.  A  couple  of  dilapidated 
wash  tubs,  an  overturaed  chicken  coop  and  a  well 
with  no  rope  or  bucket,  completed  the  external 
furniture.  The  only  sound  on  the  place  was  a 
mournful  creaking  of  some  unseen  door,  and  the 
occasional  bang  of  a  distant  shutter  when  the 
wind  would  arise  with  a  momentarj^  gust.  It 
was  simply  impossible  to  hear  these  echoes  in 
the  lonely  enclosure  without  a  nem'ous  start,  a 
creepy  sensation  down  the  back,  and  an  appre- 
hensive backward  glance  to  see  if  anybody  was 
looking  at  or  stealing  upon  one  from  the  shadowy 
bam  or  the  open  door  of  the  smoke  house. 

The  main  building,  however,  was  the  chief  ob- 
ject of  interest.  Tt  had  a  steep  roof  with  two 
dormer  windows,  which  led  backward  into  the 


128  A  Strange  Homestead 

attic.  A  couple  of  faded  red  curtains  hung 
loosely  over  the  sash.  Either  they  had  not  been 
worth  removing  or  had  been  overlooked  on  the 
departure  of  the  last  tenant.  All  the  other  win- 
dows on  the  lower  floors  were  closed  with  solid 
wooden  shutters.  There  was  a  back  gallery, 
while  in  front  a  portico  projected  over  the  hall 
door  at  the  right  hand  comer.  Through  the  nar- 
row side  windows  on  each  side  of  the  door  could 
be  had  a  dim  view  of  a  long  shadowy  passage 
terminating  with  a  broad  staircase  which  disap- 
peared upward  in  still  dimmer  regions.  One  of 
the  wooden  gutters  over  the  porch  had  become 
choked  with  dead  leaves  near  the  spout,  and  made 
a  kind  of  dam  for  the  last  rain.  The  moisture 
leaked  through  the  honey-combed  wood  and  fell 
in  drops  upon  the  floor  with  a  melancholy  mono- 
tone. 

The  place  had  an  appearance  of  gloom  and 
mystery  about  it.  One  could  not  but  wonder,  and 
many  did  marvel,  why  a  dwelling  with  such  am- 
ple grounds  should  remain  untenanted  from 
month  to  month  and  year  to  year.  The  houses 
all  about  it  were  occupied,  the  town  in  which  it 
was  located  was  large  and  prosperous  and  resi- 
dences seemed  to  be  in  demand;  ''Why  was  this 
domicile  vacant?" 

This  was  the  very  question  my  cousin  Amy 


A  Strange  Homestead  129 

asked  of  a  couple,  a  man  and  a  woman,  who  were 
passing  by  as  she  leaned  against  the  gate  look- 
ing at  the  deserted  building.  The  answer  they 
gave  was:  "They  say  it  is  haunted,  Madam." 

It  is  said  there  is  a  vein  of  superstition  in  every- 
body, but  as  my  acquaintance  is  confined  to  a  few 
thousand  of  the  human  race,  and  there  are  a 
billion  and  a  half  of  the  aforesaid  family  that  I 
have  not  had  the  opportunity  of  interviewing  on 
the  subject,  of  course  about  this  I  cannot  speak 
assuredly. 

It  is  a  fact,  however,  that  Cousin  Amy's  heart 
gave  a  little  jump  when  she  received  the  blunt 
answer  I  have  written.  She  had  felt  a  small 
bound  of  the  same  organ  when  she  first  beheld 
the  house,  and  still  another  when  she  read  the 
placard,  ''For  Sale  or  Rent,"  on  one  of  the  large 
shade  trees;  but  this  jump  was  different  from 
the  other  two.     The  first  was  one  of  hope,  the 

second  of  joy,  and  the  third  and  last  was well, 

it  was  not  like  the  others.  But  Cousin  Amy 
would  never  have  admitted  that  it  was  a  super- 
stitious thrill  or  motion  of  fear. 

The  sun  was  setting,  some  locusts  were  drowsily 
singing  in  the  trees  before  the  deserted  home, 
the  shadows  were  filling  the  yards,  while  the  air 
of  loneliness  and  moumfulness  about  the  dwell- 
ing which  had  struck  her  at  the  first  view,  nat- 


130  A  Strange  Homestead 


urally  deepened  under  the  words  of  her  inform- 
ant. But  shaking  off  the  impression,  my  Cousin 
turned  to  the  man  and  said,  laughingly: 

''It  is  not  possible  that  you  believe  in  such  a 
thing  as  haunted  houses?" 

The  person  questioned  was  evidently  a  day 
laborer.  His  speech  was  slow  and  deliberate  and 
he  had  an  impassive,  not  to  say  sad  face.  The 
ghost  could  not  have  had  a  better  introducer  or 
defender,  so  far  as  manner  was  concerned,  than 
this  individual.  His  wife,  a  blue-eyed,  thin-look- 
ing, washed-out  piece  of  humanity  stood  nervous- 
ly twitching  her  fingers  around  the  top  of  one  of 
the  palings,  while  her  husband  carried  on  the 
conversation. 

My  cousin  was  a  tall,  slender  woman,  and  al- 
ways dressed  in  deepest  black  with  a  long  crepe 
veil  pinned  to  her  bonnet  and  falling  backwards. 
As  she  had  been  compelled  to  take  care  of  herself 
since  her  husband's  death,  she  had  developed 
into  what  is  called  a  common  sense  business  wo- 
man. She  kept  up  with  the  market  prices  and  the 
Real  Estate  Reports,  read  no  sentimental  novels, 
and  had  no  books  of  uncanny  lore  in  her  small 
library.  As  a  girl  she  had  never  believed  in 
fairies,  and  as  a  grown  woman  had  no  faith  in 
ghosts.  She  had  never  heard  of  ''The  Golden 
Bug,"  "The  Black  Cat,"  nor  "The  Murder  of 


A  Strange  Homestead  131 

The  Rue  St.  Morgue."  She  usually  straightened 
up  her  household  accounts  at  night,  read  briefly 
in  her  Prayer  Book,  slept  soundly  and  awoke 
with  a  good  apj^etite. 

The  fact  was,  that  upon  a  little  reflection  she 
was  not  sorry  to  hear  the  house  was  haunted,  as 
she  saw  that  the  rental  price  of  the  building 
would  naturally  be  considerably  lower  than  that 
of  one  which  was  level-headed,  so  to  speak, 
and  behaved  itself  properly,  not  only  in  the  day, 
but  at  night  as  well,  a  time  in  which  so  many  peo- 
ple and  things  take  advantage  to  cut  up  gen- 
erally. 

So  my  cousin  put  a  number  of  questions  to  the 
man,  and  drew  from  him  the  facts  that  several 
families  had  moved  into  the  tenement  but  never 
stayed  more  than  a  few  days.  That  it  had  lain 
idle  for  years  until  two  months  before,  a  gardener 
and  his  family  had  braved  the  reports  and  came 
with  garden  seed,  implements,  vegetables  and  all, 
rejoicing  that  with  such  ample  grounds  they  could 
make  an  easy  living  through  the  markets.  This 
gardener  had  only  stayed  two  days  and  nights 
when  he  and  his  wife  looked  like  ghosts  them- 
selves, and  packed  up  early  one  morning  and 
drove  away. 

''What  do  they  all  say  happens  inside?"  asked 
mv  Cousin. 


132  A  Strange  Homestead 

^  *  Too  many  things  to  tell  you.  One  is  that  peo- 
ple walk  up  and  down  the  stairs  all  night.  Then 
the  bells  get  to  ringing.  Then  they  hear  someone 
fall  in  the  room  on  the  second  floor.  Beside  this 
they  hear  a  gurgling  like  a  man  choking  to  death, 
and  I  can't  tell  you  what  all." 

My  cousin  was  on  the  point  of  laughing  out- 
right, but  noticing  the  narrator's  grave  manner 
and  how  evidently  affected  he  was  by  the  rumors 
flying  about  in  regard  to  the  dwelling,  she  drew 
her  veil  quickly  before  her  mouth  to  conceal  her 
smiles. 

"Is  that  all  you  can  tell  me?"  she  asked,  after 
steadying  her  voice. 

''Ain't  that  enough,  Madam?"  returned  the 
man,  looking  with  a  wondering  air  upon  her. 
Then  continuing,  he  said: 

''There  is  more  if  I  had  time  to  tell  you  all  I 
have  heard,  but  this  much  I  have  seen  myself. 
Do  you  see  those  two  windows  in  the  roof  with  the 
red  curtains  hanging  over  them?" 

My  cousin  lifted  her  eyes  upward    and    said: 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Well,"  resumed  the  other,  "what  if  I  should 
tell  you  that  twice  I  have  seen  the  comer  of  that 
right  hand  curtain  lifted  and  a  face  like  that  of 
a  dead  man  looking  down  at  me?" 

My  cousin,  as  I  have  said,  had  no  nonsense 


A  Strange  Homestead  133 

about  her,  but  the  speaker's  words  were  so  solemn, 
and  the  excitement  which  had  grown  upon  him 
was  so  marked  that,  sensible  woman  though  she 
was,  yet  as  she  listened  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  windows,  she  again  felt  peculiarly,  and  real- 
ized an  unmistakable  shivering  sensation  that 
took  the  vertebral  column  for  a  highway  of 
travel,  but  also  branched  off  in  various  directions 
through  and  around  the  body. 

The  man's  wife  here  broke  in,  saying: 
''Nothing  could  ever  get  me  to  look  up  at  that 
window,  for  if  I  did  and  saw  that  face  staring 
at  me  I  would  drop  dead  in  my  tracks.     I  just 
know  I  would." 

Then  pulling  her  husband  by  the  arm,  she  con- 
tinued: 

"It  is  getting  late,  let's  go  home." 
When  the  couple  left,  my  cousin  walked  inside 
the  yard,  and,  approaching  the  placard  on  the 
tree,  took  down  the  address  of  the  Agent.  She 
next  ascended  the  steps  to  the  portico,  glancing 
through  the  window  pane  at  the  shadowy  hall 
and  stairway;  took  a  circuit  about  the  house, 
walked  through  the  back  yard,  looked  into  the 
kneeling  tenement  with  its  open  but  dark  door- 
way, and  returning  to  the  starting  point  stood 
under  the  trees  gazing  at  the  place  while  revolv- 
ing  certain   plans   in  her   mind.     The   building 


134  A  Strange  Homestead 

fronted  west  and  had  the  light  of  the  dying  day 
on  its  upper  part.  Suddenly  remembering  what 
the  man  said  about  the  right  hand  dormer  win- 
dow, she  raised  her  eyes  and  to  her  amazement 
saw  the  lower  corner  of  the  red  curtain  partly 
lifted,  and  back  a  foot  or  so  from  the  portal  she 
beheld  the  face  of  a  man,  cadaverous  and  death- 
like, looking  at  her.  In  another  instant  the  cur- 
tain dropped  and  moved  no  more. 

Now  I  have  said  twice  already  that  my  cousin 
was  a  sensible,  cool-headed  woman,  not  given  to 
fainting  or  hysterics  or  anything  of  that  kind; 
but  while  I  want  that  understood,  yet  she  was  a 
woman  and  had  some  nerves.  If  she  had  ever 
doubted  the  last  fact  she  did  so  no  longer.  She 
also  found  that  she  had  an  extra  supply  of  blood 
and  that  it  had  suddenly  poured  itself  back  on  her 
heart,  and  there  was  a  curious  ringing  in  her  ears 
and  something  got  the  matter  with  her  breathing 
apparatus.  But  she  rallied,  buttoned  her  gloves, 
arranged  her  veil,  saying,  * '  0  pshaw, ' '  and  walked 
away. 

The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  business  houses 
had  opened,  my  cousin  went  down  town  and 
sought  the  office  of  the  Agent  of  the  vacant  home. 
He  looked  up  from  his  morning  paper  at  her  en- 
trance, and  when  she  made  known  her  errand  visi- 
bly warmed  up  and  even  showed  cordiality.    This 


A  Strange  Homestead  135 

hearty  manner  became  graciousness  itself  when 
the  visitor  said  she  was  willing  on  the  morrow  to 
pay  down  a  quarter's  rent  in  advance. 

There  was  a  lurking  smile,  however,  in  the 
corner  of  his  mouth  when  his  new  lessee  re- 
quested certain  repairs  and  additions  to  be  made. 
But  if  he  suspected  in  his  heart  that  after  one 
night's  occupancy  of  the  house  she  would  be  glad 
to  get  away  and  never  mention  restorations  and 
alterations  again,  he  did  not  betray  the  secret 
thought,  but  promising  all  should  be  done  that 
could  in  reason  be  demanded,  he  placed  the  house 
keys  in  her  hand  and  courteously  bowed  her  out 
of  the  office. 

Outside  of  a  few  jewels  and  some  heavy  ma- 
hogany furniture  the  only  other  personal  posses- 
sion of  my  cousin  was  a  negro  woman  named 
Maria.  She  had  been  a  faithful  family  servant 
for  a  number  of  years,  and  though  fifty  years  of 
age  was  strong  and  active,  and  knew  not  what 
it  was  to  have  an  ache  or  pain.  As  the  family 
had  dropped  into  the  grave  one  by  one,  all  of 
Maria's  love  had  settled  upon  my  cousin,  the  soli- 
tary sur\'ivor  of  the  old  Southern  household. 

Like  all  the  colored  race,  Maria  was  deeply 
superstitious  and  a  firm  believer  in  ghosts, 
witches  and  other  interesting  characters  of  the 
cemetery  and  mid  air.    My  cousin  knew  it  would 


136  A  Strange  Homestead 

never  do  to  tell  her  all  concerning  their  new 
dwelling;  that  if  she  did,  such  would  be  the  fears 
of  the  woman  that  the  idea  she  now  had  in  her 
mind  could  never  be  carried  out.  Her  plan  was 
to  go  to  the  house  in  company  with  Maria  that 
very  afternoon  and  spend  the  night  supplied  with 
a  lounge  for  herself,  a  pallet  for  the  servant,  a 
couple  of  chairs  and  small  table,  a  lamp  and  lan- 
tern, and  armed  with  a  heavy  walking  stick  which 
could  have  felled  an  ox,  and  the  saber  once  wield- 
ed by  her  father. 

Maria  looked  somewhat  disturbed  when  my 
cousin  told  her  they  would  pass  the  first  night 
in  the  house  alone;  but  when  she  saw  the  gloomy 
looking  building  she  exhibited  still  greater  signs 
of  alarm,  and  when  the  cartman  who  had  brought 
their  little  load  laid  the  articles  down  before  the 
door  and  seemed  anxious  to  get  away,  casting 
furtive  glances  about  while  my  cousin  was  set- 
tling with  him,  Maria  fairly  broke  down  and  ex- 
claimed: 

"Whut  fur,  Miss  Amy,  you  gwine  to  stay  in 
sich  a  lonesome  whippoorwill  place?  Why  doan 
you  wait  till  yer  boders  come?" 

''No,"  replied  my  cousin,  firmly,  "we  will  get 
the  place  cleaned  and  fixed  up  before  the  boarders 
arrive,  and  we  can  attend  to  that  better  here  than 
by  staying  up  town." 


.1  Strange  Homestead  137 

**You  mean,  Honey,  ef  de  Lawd  spares  us.  I 
nuvver  seed  sicli  a  lonesome  place.  I  feel  like  we 
gwine  ter  be  kilt  liyer  in  col'  blood." 

So  muttering,  grumbling,  and  groaning  she  fol- 
lowed my  cousin  as  she  tried  first  one  key  and 
then  another,  and  at  last  opening  the  front  door 
entered  the  hall.  The  passage  had  a  damp, 
mouldy  smell  from  having  been  long  shut  up,  and 
my  cousin  told  Maria  to  throw  up  the  side  win- 
dows, which  the  woman  did  with  cautious  turn- 
ings of  her  head  meanwhile  to  see  if  anyone  was 
approaching  her  from  the  rear. 

By  the  time  the  two  women  had  swept  out  the 
lower  hall  and  front  room,  brought  in  the  chairs 
and  lounge,  set  the  couch  up  and  made  the  two 
beds,  it  was  dusk. 

Lighting  their  one  lamp  and  placing  it  in  the 
hall,  my  cousin  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the  por- 
tico for  a  little  thought  and  rest.  The  locusts  in 
the  trees  were  at  their  old  drowsy  song.  The 
street  in  front  was  a  quiet  one  and  there  was  but 
little  passing  on  it  day  or  night.  But  she  had 
come  to  investigate  the  mystery  of  this  house. 
She  wanted  the  place,  had  concluded  to  take  it, 
and  was  determined  to  find  out  at  the  beginning 
all  about  its  uncanny  history. 

She  had  gathered  enough  by  hearsay  about 
ghosts,  to  know  that  they  seemed  to  prefer  mid- 


138  A  Strange  Homestead 

night  for  their  promenades  at  home  and  abroad, 
and  she  was  infoniied  by  the  hands  of  her  little 
gold  watch  that  she  had  nearly  six  hours  to  wait. 
So  she  was  naturally  astounded  when  an  unearthly 
yell  proceeded  from  within  the  hall,  followed  by 
a  black  body  making  for  the  steps;  the  yell  and 
body  both  belonging  to  Maria. 

In  answer  to  the  quick  repeated  question, 
''What  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  Maria  gasped 
out  that  she  had  seen  ''sumpin'  white  standin' 
up  dar  at  de  head  uv  de  stairs." 

My  cousin  promptly  ran  into  the  hall,  caught 
up  the  lamp  and  holding  it  above  her  head  gazed 
upward  to  the  head  of  the  staircase,  which  wound 
to  the  left  and  disappeared  in  the  gloom  of  the 
second  story.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  so 
she  went  up  as  high  as  the  turn  in  the  stairway 
and  threw  the  light  in  the  upper  hall— but  all 
was  empty  and  still. 

As  a  first  experience  the  above  was  not  very 
reassuring,  and  brought  from  Maria  the  most 
earnest  entreaties: 

**Fur  de  Lawd's  sake.  Miss  Amy,  les'  git  away 
f'um  dis  Gawdfursaken  place  an'  let  de  Ghosses 
hev  it  to  dey  selves." 

My  cousin,  in  reply,  told  Maria  not  to  be  silly, 
and  led  her  out  on  the  porch  where  she  could  see 
the  twinkling  street  lamps  and  note  an  occasional 


A  Strange  Homestead  139 

passerby.  Then  sitting  on  the  top  step  she  sang 
some  of  her  favorite  ballads  with  her  back  to  the 
door,  while  Maria  on  the  third  step  affecting  to 
be  listening  to  the  song  turned  her  eyes  contin- 
ually toward  the  hall  entrance  as  if  she  moment- 
arily expected  a  Ghost  or  the  Devil  himself. 

At  eight  o'clock  they  arose  to  go  in.  They 
barred  the  hall  portal,  lowered  the  windows,  and 
entering  the  front  room  locked  that  door,  put  the 
stick  and  saber  in  a  convenient  place,  trimmed 
the  lamp  and  placed  the  lantern,  with  some 
matches,  by  the  side  of  the  lounge. 

Maria,  in  spite  of  her  alarm,  was  sleepy  headed 
like  her  race,  and  soon  fell  into  a  deep  slumber. 
My  cousin  sat  up  reading  a  couple  of  hours.  She 
had  intended  keeping  awake  all  night,  but  being 
unusually  tired  from  the  long  house  hunting  trips 
of  the  week,  the  wearied  body  asserted  itself,  and 
she,  too,  was  soon  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

Suddenly  she  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of  a 
heavy  fall  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  room 
just  overhead.  In  an  instant  she  was  wide  awake, 
and  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  lounge  listened  most 
intently.  Maria  was  still  asleep  and  had  heard 
nothing. 

Everything  remained  perfectly  quiet  for  fully 
five  minutes,  when  the  bells  in  the  house  began 
to  ring.     She  could  plainly  distinguish  that  it 


140  'A^  Strange  Homestead 


was  not  the  front  door  bell,  but  those  which  hung 
in  the  dining  room  and  the  room  beyond,  where 
there  were  fully  half  a  dozen  connecting  with  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  house. 

Maria  was  now  wide  awake  and  thoroughly 
frightened.  The  whites  of  her  eyes  became  two 
circles  while  she  grasped  her  mistress  by  the  arm 
and  whispered  hoarsely: 

"Miss  Amy,  vrhut  in  de  name  of  de  Lawd  is 
all  datf" 

"We  are  going  to  find  out,"  answered  my 
cousin  firmly,  while  making  a  movement  to  the 
door. 

"Laws-a-mussy,  Miss  Amy,"  said  the  terrified 
woman;  "you  sholy  ain't  gwine  outen  dis  room 
an'  'peril  yohse'f  dat  way  'mungst  all  dese 
Ghosses  and  whut  not?" 

"I  certainly  am,"  replied  my  cousin,  in  a  firm 
tone.  "I  am  going  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  all 
these  strange  midnight  happenings  before  an- 
other day  dawns." 

So,  giving  the  walking  stick  to  Maria,  taking 
the  sword  for  herself  and  holding  the  lantern  in 
her  left  hand,  she  quickly  opened  the  door  and 
stood  for  a  moment  listening  and  peering  upward 
into  the  shadows  of  the  stairs  and  upper  hall. 
Distinctly  they  heard  muffled  footsteps  as  if  some 
one  was  descending  the  second  flight  and  coming 


A  Strange  Homestead  141 

down  the  passage  to  the  first  landing,  but  they 
died  away  and  no  form  appeared  at  the  head  of 
the  staircase. 

The  third  time  the  bells  began  ringing.  Turn- 
ing the  lamp  up  to  its  full  height  Cousin  Amy 
started  at  once  in  that  direction,  bidding  Maria 
to  follow  her  closely,  a  perfectly  needless  com- 
mand, as  that  panic-struck  personage  had  no  idea 
of  being  left  behind.  On  entering  the  dining  room 
she  observed  the  clapper  of  the  solitary  bell  in 
that  apartment  swaying  to  and  fro,  though  mak- 
ing no  sound,  and  on  going  into  the  small  passage 
beyond  found  all  those  which  hung  there  in  a  row 
in  a  like  tremulous  condition.  Even  while  she 
was  looking  at  them  they  began  to  ring  again  as 
did  the  one  they  had  just  left,  and  two  others  they 
could  hear  in  the  servants'  room  on  the  second 
floor. 

At  the  sight  and  sound  of  these  unearthly  do- 
ings, Maria  came  very  nearly  falling,  and  with  a 
most  beseeching  wail  in  her  voice,  cried: 

"Fur  de  Lawd's  sake.  Miss  Amy,  less  git  outen 
dis  infunnel  ole  house.  I'm  fitten  to  drap  now  an' 
my  heart  done  stop  beatin'." 

Cousin  Amy  was  herself  quite  pale,  but  the 
spirit  of  the  man  who  once  wielded  the  sword 
was  in  the  daughter,  and  the  white  hand  grasped 
the  saber  in  a  way  which  meant  trouble  to  anv 


142  A  Strange  Homestead 


thing  thicker  than  moonshine.    Speaking  firmly 
to  Maria,  she  said: 

''H  you  drop  down  here,  then  whoever  may  be 
in  the  house  will  be  certain  to  get  you;  but  if  you 
stick  to  me  and  do  as  I  tell  you,  you  may  come 
out  all  right." 

Maria  saw  the  point  and  said  nothing  more 
about  ''drappin'." 

My  cousin  saw  that  the  wires  from  the  bells 
in  the  passageway,  with  the  one  in  the  room,  ran 
along  the  wall  near  the  top  of  the  ceiling  and  dis- 
appeared in  a  large  closet  located  in  a  comer  of 
the  apartment.  Approaching  it  she  opened  the 
door  suddenly  with  lamp  uplifted  and  sword 
drawn.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  only  some 
empty  shelves,  and  a  kind  of  boxing  six  inches 
square  which  extended  from  one  side  of  the  closet 
to  the  other.  This  she  at  once  recognized  as  con- 
taining the  bell  wires.  She  stood  looking  at  it 
for  a  full  minute,  and  then  a  very  queer  look 
came  upon  her  face. 

Her  next  move  was  toward  the  hall  stairs,  and 
with  an  order  to  Maria  to  hold  her  brass  lamp 
high,  she  led  the  way  upward  to  the  second  fioor. 
At  the  top  they  listened,  and  again  heard  the  soft 
retreating  steps.  Going  to  the  room  from  which 
the  sound  of  the  fall  proceeded,  and  turning  the 
knob  of  the  door,  only  emptiness,  dust,  and  some 
litter  were  revealed. 


A  Strange  Homestead  143 

Here  my  cousin  stood  full  of  thonglit  for  sev- 
eral minutes.  Could  the  sound  have  come  from 
this  room  or  the  one  above  on  the  third  floor? 
Turning,  they  went  from  chamber  to  chamber,  but 
quietness  and  vacancy  met  them  everj^where. 
They  next  mounted  the  second  flight  which  led  to 
the  third  story,  and  paused  to  take  breath  and 
reconnoiter.  This  floor  corresponded  to  the  second 
with  the  exception  of  a  lower  ceiling.  A  narrow 
stairway  led  to  the  attic,  from  which  the  dormer 
windows  projected. 

As  they  stood  together,  a  puff  of  wind  swept 
by  them  from  the  attic  bringing  the  odor  of  some- 
thing dead,  so  sickening  that  both  had  to  cover 
their  nostrils. 

Maria  had  just  whispered,  ''Dey*s  sumpin'dead 
up  dar,  Miss  Amy,"  when  suddenly  she  gave  a 
loud  scream,  her  lamp  flew  up  in  the  air  and 
fell,  with  the  crash  of  the  glass  chimney,  from 
step  to  step  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  rolled  a 
few  feet  on  the  floor  and  stopped  with  ex- 
tinguished light. 

Cousin  Amy  instantly  grasped  the  agitated 
negro  who  now  looked  ready  to  follow  the  lamp, 
and  demanded: 

"AVhat  on  earth  is  the  matter,  Maria  f* 

"Wut's  de  mattah!"  gasped  the  trembling  wo- 
man.   *'Why,  ev'y thing  is  de  mattah.    Sumpin' 


144  A  Strange  Hornestead 

cole  dun  toch  my  nekked  foot.  I  speck  'twuz 
dat  dead  man  in  de  attick." 

"Oh,  fiddlesticks!"  jerked  out  my  cousin,  im- 
patiently.   "I  thought  you  had  seen  something." 

**I  dun  wuss  'en  see  him.    I  dun  felt  him." 

"Felt  who?" 

"Why,  dat  dead  man  in  de  attick." 

"Who  said  there  was  a  dead  man  in  the  attic?" 
asked  my  cousin,   sharply. 

"Who  say'd  it?  Nobody  say'd  it.  I  dun  smelt 
him,"  replied  the  woman,  with  an  air  of  one  who 
had  clinched  a  matter  and  there  was  now  no 
question  or  appeal  in  the  case.  Then,  as  they 
heard  the  bells  beginning  to  peal  forth  again 
down  stairs,  Maria  burst  forth  into  a  torrent  of 
entreaties. 

* '  Miss  Amy,  Honey  Chile,  less  git  away  fum  dis 
hyer  place.  Fur  de  sake  uv  yer  Maw  an'  yer 
Paw  in  Heben,  less  git  outen  hyer.  Whut  dey 
think  ef  dey  could  see  you  hyer  in  dis  ole  chun- 
nel  house.  Drat  de  ole  barn,  I  wish  I  lied  never 
seed  it.  Jes'  lis'n  ter  dem  bells  down  stairs  ur 
ringin'  fur  dead  niggers.  Oh,  Miss  Amy,  fur  de 
Lawd's  sake,  an'  fur  yer  ole  Mammy's  sake,  less 
go." 

But  the  pleading  words  and  coaxing  tones  all 
failed  with  my  cousin,  who,  taking  up  her  sword 
and  lantern,  which  she  had  laid  down  in  order  to 


A  Strange  Homestead  145 

help  Maria  up  from  the  floor,  approached  the 
room  that  was  located  over  the  chamber  where 
the  sounds  of  falling  had  been  heard.  Like  all 
the  other  apartments  of  the  house  there  was  only- 
emptiness,  dust,  some  straw  and  bits  of  paper. 

Cousin  Amy  opened  the  door  of  the  closet, 
peered  behind  the  chimney,  glanced  into  the  cor- 
ners, tapped  the  wall,  but  could  make  no  discov- 
eries. As  they  stood  silent  after  the  investigation 
they  heard  the  town  clock  striking  the  hour  of 
one.  A  moment  later  a  peculiar  grating  sound 
as  if  a  file  was  being  used  just  outside  of  the  win- 
dow, fell  upon  the  ear.  Maria,  whose  nerves  were 
by  this  time  all  shattered,  said,  with  chattering 
teeth : 

''Miss  Amy,  do  you  hyer  dat  dead  man  grittin' 
his  teeth?"  ^ 

"Nonsense,"  answered  my  cousin,  "how  can  a 
dead  man  grind  his  teeth?" 

Then  going  to  the  window  she  raised  the  sash 
and  quietly  opening  the  shutters  looked  out.  It 
was  a  beautiful  starry  night,  and  the  Great  Bear 
in  silver  outline  was  stretched  above  and  along 
the  horizon;  but  my  cousin  had  no  eye  nor  thought 
of  astronomy  or  celestial  beauties  at  this  time. 
Her  glance  was  first  directed  to  the  ground  and 
then  to  the  side  of  the  house  to  see  if  there  was 
a  burglar  crowned  ladder  anywhere  near.     But 


146  A  Strange  Homestead 

neither  man  nor  ladder  were  in  sight.  Then, 
gazing  fixedly  for  several  minutes  at  something 
outside,  she  closed  the  shutters,  lowered  the  sash, 
and  taking  up  the  sword  and  lanteni  walked  out 
into  the  hall.  Again  she  had  that  queer  look  on 
her  face. 

When  she  started  to  the  attic,  Maria  became 
eloquent  in  her  pleadings  and  protests  against 
* '  gwine  whar  dat  dead  man  wuz. ' ' 

But  her  mistress  pressed  up  the  stairway,  and, 
as  Maria  preferred  facing  a  dead  man  in  com- 
pany to  being  left  alone  in  the  dark,  she  followed 
her  with  alacrity  of  feet  but  great  heaviness  of 
heart. 

The  attic  door  was  open,  and  as  they  drew  near 
the  stench  became  almost  unbearable.  But 
Cousin  Amy,  keyed  up  to  a  high  pitch,  fairly 
plunged  her  way  inside  the  door,  uplifted  her 
lantern  and  stood  for  a  moment  transfixed  at  the 
sight  of  an  object  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  floor! 

In  another  instant  she  hastened  to  a  small  side 
window  and  let  a  draft  of  pure  night  air  into  the 
room,  while  Maria,  with  her  apron  covering 
mouth  and  nostrils,  exclaimed  in  muffled  accents: 

''Well,  laws-a-mussy,  who'd  a  thunk  it?" 

My  cousin,  with  another  glance  at  the  object 
on  the  floor,  turned  to  the  right  hand  window 
where  she  had  seen  the  face  looking  down  at  her 


A  Strange  Homestead  147 

in  the  yard.  Entering  the  recess  with  her  lantern 
and  peering  around  a  wooden  frame  that  was 
leaning  against  the  wall,  she  suddenly  encoun- 
tered the  face! 

It,  however,  was  not  looking  at  her,  but  toward 
the  window.  Walking  quietly  from  the  place. 
Cousin  Amy  left  the  room  and  passed  down  the 
stairs,  this  time  Maria  leading  the  way  'Ho  be 
in  de  light  so  sumpin'  koodn'  grab  her  f'um  be- 
hin'." 

As  my  cousin  went  down  the  three  stair  cases 
into  the  room  on  the  first  floor  which  they  had 
occupied,  she  had  again  a  very  peculiar  expres- 
sion of  countenance. 

Locking  the  door  and  placing  the  lantern  on 
the  table  to  bum  through  the  night  for  Maria's 
sake,  she  reclined  on  her  couch  and  composed 
herself  for  sleep.  Maria  affirmed  she  was  afraid 
to  lie  down,  and  so  sat  up  at  the  foot  of  her  Mis- 
tress' bed,  and  nodded  through  the  balance  of 
the  night  in  true  darkey  style.  The  sight  of  her 
dumpy  figure,  big  red  bandana  handkerchief  on 
her  bowing  head,  the  sleepy  eyes  suddenly  open- 
ing, rolling  around  in  quest  of  spirits,  and  then 
slowly  closing  again,  was  a  spectacle  that  even 
if  it  did  not  .scare  a  ghost,  would  have  given  him, 
her,  or  it,  whatever  may  be  the  gender  of  a  wraith, 
a  great  deal  of  wonder,  not  to  say  amusement. 


148  A  Strange  Homestead 

Who  can  tell  but  the  ghosts  of  the  house 
watched  her  that  night.  In  fact  one  did  come  and 
sit  in  a  chair  by  the  fire-place  and  contemplated 
the  nodding  woman  as,  sitting  on  the  floor  with 
back  to  the  wall  and  outstretched  feet,  she  meas- 
ured off  the  remaining  hours  with  dippings,  roll- 
ings, jerkings  and  oscillations  of  the  head  in  gen- 
eral. I  don't  know  what  he  thought,  for  he  said 
nothing,  but  after  a  while  got  up  and  left  as  he 
came  in,  without  opening  the  door. 

****** 

Next  morning  my  cousin  wrote  the  following 
notes,  all  of  which  she  dispatched  by  the  hand  of 
Maria.    The  first  was  to  a  druggist  and  read: 

Mr.  Chamberlain: 

Please  send  me  by  my  servant  Maria,  thirty 
grains  of  strychnine.    I  enclose  the  money. 
Respectfully  yours, 

Mrs.  Amy  Balfour, 

The  second  was  to  the  agent  of  the  house,  and 
ran  as  follows: 

Mr.  R.  L.  Merrill, 

Real  Estate  Agent. 

Dear  Sir:  I  will  take  the  house  and  herewith 
send  you  check  for  the  first  quarter's  rent. 

In  addition  to  the  repairs  you  kindly  promised 


A  Strange  Homestead  149 

to  make,  there  are  some  minor  details  to  be  at- 
tended to  which  you  have  not  noticed,  but  which 
I  discovered  last  night  by  remaining  on  the 
premises. 

I  find  that  the  rats  have  gnawed  a  hole  in  the 
box  casing  which  contains  the  bell  wires  in  the 
closet  and  in  making  their  nest  inside  and  run- 
ning over  the  wires,  it  occasions  a  jingling  of  the 
bells,  especially  at  night,  making  an  unpleasant 
and  gruesome  sound  to  hear. 

I  discover,  also,  a  number  of  rat  holes  in  the 
walls  of  the  rooms.  Please  send  a  tinner  with  his 
tools  and  some  strips  of  zinc  or  tin  to  have  them 
covered.  This,  with  a  liberal  dose  of  strychnine 
which  1  have  ordered  to-day,  will  save  us  hereaf- 
ter from  a  company  of  night  visitors  whose  use 
of  the  staircase  after  bed  time  until  morning,  in 
traveling  up  and  down  and  jumping  from  step 
to  step  makes  another  sound  not  particularly 
agreeable. 

In  the  front  upper  room  of  the  second  floor  and 
between  the  ceiling  and  flooring  I  am  confident 
there  is  a  plank  or  joist  that  is  loose  or  balanced 
some  way  so  that  by  the  rising  of  the  wind  or  un- 
der the  weight  of  a  rat  running  over  it,  it  makes 
a  bumping,  falling  sound  which  is  quite  startling 
to  hear  day  or  night,  but  especially  at  night.    By 


150  A  Strange  Homestead 

ripping  up  a  part  of  the  flooring  the  joist  or  plank 
can  be  removed  and  the  matter  rectified. 

I  also  found  out  last  night  that  the  tin  gutter- 
ing on  the  north  side  of  the  house  near  the  third 
floor  has  worked  loose  and  makes,  when  the  wind 
is  blowing,  a  scraping,  grating  sound.  A  whole 
section  will  fall  if  it  is  not  nailed  on  afresh  at 
once. 

By  attending  to  these  things  immediately  you 
will  greatly  oblige, 

Yours  truly, 

Mrs.  Amy  Balfour. 

A  third  note  was  written  to  a  keeper  and  owner 
of  carts  and  wagons: 

Mr.  Gibson: 

Please  send  at  once  a  man  with  a  small  wagon 
to  144  Blank  Street,  to  remove  from  the  attic  a 
quantity  of  decayed  matter  in  the  shape  of  nearly 
a  cartload  of  vegetables  which  the  last  tenant 
overlooked  and  left  to  rot  and  produce  disease. 

In  haste, 

Mrs.  Balfour. 


But,  says  the  reader,  there  are  several  things 
you  have  forgotten  to  explain,  and  one  was  the 


A  Strange  Homestead  151 

great  yellow  face  looking  down  at  your  cousin 
from  the  donner  window. 

*'Yes,  that  is  so.  It  was  the  face  of  George 
Washington." 

'* Ridiculous,"  you  say,  ''what  was  George 
Washington  doing  up  in  that  old  garret!" 

"I  never  said  that  George  Washington  was  up 
there,  but  his  face." 

**I  suppose  you  mean  his  picture?" 

''Yes,  that's  it;  some  one  had  a  chromo  of  the 
Father  of  his  Country.  The  face  was  large  and 
had  become  yellow  with  time,  and,  looking  out 
from  a  dark  background,  it  was  anything  but  life- 
like and  attractive.  The  owner  of  the  daub  had 
either  tired  of  or  forgotten  it,  and  it  had  been 
placed  in  the  window  recess  as  described.  Here  my 
cousin  found  it  tilted  foi'ward  with  one  corner  of 
the  frame  resting  against  the  window,  so  that  the 
face  had  a  downward  gaze  upon  the  street." 

"But  what  about  the  strange  lifting  of  the  cur- 
tain that  the  workman  and  your  cousin  both  no- 
ticed!" 

"That  is  easily  explained.  Right  in  front  of 
the  picture  the  window  pane  was  gone,  and  when- 
ever the  wind  shifted  to  the  west  and  blew  in,  the 
curtain  would  be  lifted  as  if  by  an  invisible  hand, 
and  that  great  yellow  face  would  be  scon  for  a  mo- 
ment gazing  down  in  the  street  and  freezing  the 


152  A  Strange  Homestead 

blood  of  superstitious  people.  One  thing  is  cer- 
tain, that  when  Cousin  Amy  made  a  fire  screen 
of  the  picture,  and  had  a  new  pane  of  glass  put 
in,  the  curtain  behaved  itself  from  that  time,  and 
the  only  faces  that  were  ever  seen  afterwards  at 
the  window  were  the  countenances  of  my  cousin 
and  Maria. ' ' 

*'But  what  of  the  white  something  that  Maria 
saw  at  the  head  of  the  staircase  when  she  yelled 
so  vigorously!" 

''She  never  saw  anything.  It  was  the  vivid 
African  fancy  with  its  proneness  to  see  'sumpin' 
white'  or  'sumpin'  black'  on  the  slightest  provo- 
cation." 

''What  of  the  gurgling,  choking  sound  heard 
in  one  of  the  rooms  as  if  somebody  was  being 
strangled  1 ' ' 

"Well,  that  occurred  only  after  a  big  rain,  and 
was  the  voice  of  a  choked  gutter  instead  of  a 
strangled  man." 

' '  But  there  is  still  one  more  thing  you  have  not 
cleared  up,"  remarks  the  reader.  "You  said  that 
one  of  the  ghosts  in  the  house  came  in,  sat  in  a 
chair  and  gazed  at  Maria." 

"Well,  it  did;  Cousin  Amy  said  so,  and  she  is 
perfectly  truthful.  She  said,  as  she  lay  on  the 
lounge  shading  her  eyes  from  the  light  and  think- 
ing of  the  occurrences  of  the  night,  that  she  saw 


,  A  Strange  Homestead  153 

him  enter  the  door  without  opening  it,  and  sit 
down  in  a  chair  by  the  fireplace  and  look  at  Maria 
as  she  nodded  her  head  in  sleep.  She  said  he 
never  uttered  a  word,  but,  to  her  fancy,  he  seemed 
amused.  She  does  not  know  but  that  he  laughed. 
After  a  while  he  got  up  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

"And  you  say  that  he  did  not  open  the  door 
either  timef" 

"He  certainly  did  not." 

"Did  he  go  through  the  door?" 

"No." 

"Well,  what  did  he  do,  then?" 

"He  went  under  the  door." 

"Ah,  now  I  see  it!    It  was  a  rat!" 

"That's  just  what  it  was." 

"But  you  said  it  was  a  ghost!" 

"I  said  it  was  one  of  the  ghosts  of  the  house. 
Look  back  and  see  if  I  did  not  say  so,  and  if  I 
did  not  tell  the  truth.  The  rats  turned  out  to  be 
the  only  ghosts  the  house  possessed." 

"Oh,  pshaw,"  says  the  reader. 

"Well,  that  is  just  what  I  said  when  Cousin 
Amv  told  me." 


JUDGE  DALRYMPLE 


155 


Judge    Dalrymple 
I 

THE  JUDGE  HIMSELF 

Mr.  John  Dalrymple,  during  the  period  called 
the  ''fifties,"  was  a  man  of  large  wealth;  but  in 
the  "sixties,"  through  the  emancipation  of  the 
slave  and  the  low  value  of  land,  he  passed  into  the 
financial  condition  known  as  comfortable  circum- 
stances, a  monetar}^  state  less  than  the  first,  but 
a  grade  higher  than  that  of  moderate  means.  This 
was  what  a  "Demonstration  of  Blue"  from  the 
Northern  States  did  for  him. 

At  the  time  he  is  first  considered  in  these  pages, 
there  were  mutterings  of  the  coming  tempest,  but 
the  storm  had  not  broken  forth  yet  with  flashes 
of  gunpowder  and  rain  drops  of  minnie  balls.  So 
that  the  subject  of  this  sketch  was  the  owner  of  a 
large  cotton  plantation  on  the  Mississippi  River, 
another  on  the  Yazoo,  and  dwelt  peacefully  with 
his  family  in  a  small  inland  town  in  a  typical 
Southern  home. 

The  house  was  most  pleasant  inside,  with  its 
lofty  rooms,  and  broad  halls;  and  quite  command- 
ing on  the  outside,  as  it  stood  with  its  large  pil- 
lared porch  on  the  summit  of  a  grass  covered 

157 


158  Judge  Dairy mple 

knoll  or  swell  of  ground  looking  through  a  grove 
of  forest  trees.  Several  of  these  monarchs,  as  if 
favorites,  and  on  intimate  terms  with  the  family, 
had  drawn  near  the  building,  thrown  their  arms 
protectingly  over  it,  and  lightly  placed  their 
finger-like  branches  with  approving  and  affec- 
tionate touch  upon  the  roof. 

The  dwelling  stood  partly  surrounded  by  a  great 
shrubbery  yard,  back  of  which  was  an  equally 
large  kitchen  garden,  where  pink  and  purple 
morning  glorys  climbed  posts  and  trellises,  and 
broadly  smiling  sun  flowers  peeped  over  the 
fence  at  their  artistocratic  neighbors,  the  peonies, 
carnations,  geraniums  and  cloth  of  gold  roses. 

The  hero  of  this  story  was  not  only  a  gentle- 
man, bom  and  bred,  but  quite  an  intellectual 
man,  a  scholar,  and  regular  bookworm.  He  had 
graduated  at  college  a  first  honor  man,  and  with 
the  most  brilliant  promise.  There  was  no  field 
he  might  have  chosen,  but  those  who  knew  him 
best  felt  ready  to  prophesy  that  there  his  gifted 
mind  would  assuredly  have  lifted  him  up  into 
prominence  and  pre-eminence.  The  general  im- 
pression of  his  friends  at  the  time  of  his  gradua- 
tion was,  that  such  were  his  mental  powers  and 
linguistic  gifts,  that  law  or  politics  would  and 
should  be  his  realm.  That  he  did  not  enter  upon 
one  or  the  other  was  a  disappointment  to  many. 


Judge  Dairy  mple  159 

However,  his  library  at  Lome,  consisting  of 
several  thousand  books  on  every  subject,  attested 
to  his  literary  taste,  while  lawyers,  preachers, 
members  of  the  Legislature,  and  Congressmen  who 
had  locked  horns  with  him  and  been  worsted  in 
controversies  carried  on  in  his  own  hospitable 
home,  could  bear  tinithful  witness  to  the  fact  of 
his  being  not  only  a  fluent  talker,  but  a  debater  of 
the  first  order.  Forensic  speech  was  the  man's  de- 
light, and  when  he  had  before  him  a  foeman 
worthy  of  his  steel,  and  minds  grappled,  and 
thought  flashed,  his  naturally  pale  and  melan- 
choly face  would  become  illumined  and  his  black 
eyes  fairly  blaze  with  internal  fires. 

One  curious  thing  about  this  Southern  gentle- 
man was  that  he  sometimes  really  did  not  care 
which  side  of  a  question  he  would  take  in  an  ar- 
gument. He  frequently  ranged  himself  on  the 
weak  and  unpopular  wing  for  the  pleasure  of  de- 
feating his  antagonist.  And  as  an  indication  of 
the  fullness  of  his  mental  resources,  he  was 
known  after  obtaining  victory  for  one  view  of  a 
question,  to  whip  around  to  the  defeated  and 
chagrined  column  and  restore  triumph  to  the  van- 
quished. 

No  one  who  knew  the  man  but  felt  he  could 
have  swept  into  the  first  place  in  the  Halls  of 
Legislature  and  Chambers  of  Law.    But  to  public 


160  Judge  Dairy mple 


life,  he  entertained  a  peculiar  repugnance,  and  as 
his  own  ample  fortune  delivered  him  from  the 
necessity  of  making  his  living  in  that  or  any  other 
way,  he  sequestered  himself  in  a  small  town,  al- 
most lived  in  his  Study,  and  digged  and  delved  in 
every  branch  of  learning. 

The  title,  .Judge,  which  ornamented  his  name, 
was  given  him,  not  because  he  was  ever  elected 
or  appointed  to  such  an  office,  but  was  conferred 
through  the  generous  spirit  of  the  Southerners, 
who,  prior  to  the  Civil  War,  General  ed,  Coloneled, 
Majored,  Captained,  Judged  and  Esquired  every- 
body who  at  all  impressed  them,  and  captured 
their  favor  and  fancy. 

John  Dalrymple,  with  his  street,  front  gallery, 
and  fireside  disputations,  looked  to  the  people  like 
he  was  a  judge;  and  so  they  made  him  one,  by 
title,  though  he  never  donned  the  robe  of  ermine. 
Once  given,  no  mortal  power  could  reclaim  it.  He 
was  "judged"  not  in  the  scriptural,  but  the  com- 
plimentary sense,  all  the  days  of  his  life. 

But  it  is  mainly  in  reference  to  a  vein  of  dry 
and  yet  rich  humor  which  threaded  the  nature 
and  colored  the  life  of  Judge  Dalrymple  that  these 
pages  are  written. 

Possessed  of  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  and 
endowed  with  genuine  wit,  this  Southern  char- 
acter had  a  way  of  saying  things,  and  the  power 


Judge  Dalrymple  IGl 

of  flinging  inward  fancies  and  creations  upon  the 
outside  canvass  in  such  forms,  as  not  only  to 
amuse  and  please  the  beholder,  but  make  the  oc- 
currence itself  an  imperishable  memory. 

Sometimes,  the  shaft  Mr.  Dalrymple  shot 
would  be  so  quietly  and  deftly  winged  that  the 
human  target  did  not  at  first  know  of  the  aim 
or  feel  the  stroke,  but  the  amused  chuckle  of  the 
Judge  showed  tliat  the  arrow  had  hit  the  mark, 
was  sticking  in  what  is  called  the  bull's  eye,  and 
was  beheld  by  the  optics  of  others  as  well. 

Our  humorist  never  allowed  his  pleasantry  to 
last  long.  A  half  hour  would  almost  always  cover 
its  display.  Certain  friends  of  his,  from  observ- 
ing this,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  indulged 
the  lighter  mood  as  some  people  take  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  or  as  still  others  treat  themselves  to  an 
"outing,"  or  a  day's  excursion— all  for  mental 
relief  and  refreshment. 

Generally  the  manifestation  would  take  place 
after  a  hard  day's  writing  or  reading,  or  a  long 
debate  with  worthy  opponents  in  the  drawing 
room  at  home,  or  in  some  law  office  down  town. 
He  doubtless  felt  the  need  of  relaxation  and  diver- 
sion, or  there  was  a  natural  movement  of  the  mind 
itself  toward  a  change,  a  kind  of  intellectual  re- 
bound; so  that  the  Judge  allowed,  and  at  times 
encouraged  the  sportive  kittens  and  frolicsome 


162  Judge  Dairy  mple 

colts  of  the  brain  to  gambol  at  will.  He  smilingly 
admitted  that  he  needed  the  enjoyment  as  an  off- 
set to  his  studious  habits  and  literary  work.  But 
many  believed  that  a  deeper  and  truer  reason 
was,  that  it  was  in  the  man;  that  he  relished  the 
mood  and  practice;  that  when  he  left  hard  Facts 
and  sober-faced  Wisdom  at  home  and  took  Fancy, 
Wit,  Humor  and  Badinage  out  for  a  picnic,  he, 
himself,  seemed  to  thoroughly  enjoy  the  holiday. 
The  Judge's  humor  had  various  ways  of  ex- 
pression and  manifestation.  One  of  his  practices 
was  the  altering  of  the  names  of  his  sei*\'ants. 
Some  of  the  titles  were  taken  from  history,  oth- 
ers from  life,  and  still  others  wrought  out  new  in 
the  factory  of  his  fertile  head.  The  two  sons  of 
his  carriage  driver  that  had  been  christened 
Ralph  and  Eeuben,  and  were  very  solemn-looking 
boys,  he  dubbed  Plato  and  Socrates.  Two  sisters 
were  sobriqueted  Timbuctoo  and  Patagonia. 
When  the  wife  of  the  family  coachman  presented 
her  husband  first  with  a  child  as  black  as  ebony, 
and  a  year  later  with  another  who  was  a  bright  mu- 
latto, Judge  Dalrymple  called  them  Orthodoxy 
and  Heresy.  Boy  twins  born  in  one  of  his  negro 
cabins  were  verbally  branded  Peter  and  Repeater. 
A  similar  binary  appearance  of  girls  in  still  an- 
other humble  negro  home  was  signalized  by  the 
Judge  with  the  remarkable  names  Did-you-Ever 


Judge  Dairy  in  pie  163 

and  No-I-Xever.  He  refused  to  change  these  ap- 
pellations, though  others  abbreviated  the  titles 
to  Ever  and  Never. 

Just  before  the  Civil  War,  the  great  modem 
lights  had  their  reflection  in  the  yard,  and  most 
distinguished  names  were  heard  addressed  to 
small  and  insignificant  looking  specimens  of  black 
humanity.  The  sight  of  a  fight  between  two 
youngsters  back  of  a  cabin,  as  they  mauled  and 
hauled  each  other  around,  brought  upon  them  like 
a  Hash,  the  names  of  Jefferson  Davis  and  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  which  in  the  condensed  fonn  of  Jeff 
and  Abe,  clung  to  them  ever  aftei^ards.  Zepha- 
niah,  the  carriage  driver  for  the  family,  and  the 
volunteer  preacher  for  his  own  people,  had  the 
aliases  given  him  of  Zoroaster  and  "the  Bishop." 

It  would  have  puzzled  many  to  have  kept  up 
with  all  the  varied  nomenclature  which  Judge 
Dalrymple  rained  on  everything  and  everybody 
in  sight.  He,  through  all,  seemed  to  be  in  his 
element,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  recalling  the 
names,  dates  and  circumstances  of  the  different 
cases,  while  eveiy  new  title  he  gave  that  fitted 
well,  was  like  a  little  sunlit  billow  of  pleasure 
rolling  over  him. 

To  visitors  of  the  Dalrjmiple  household,  and 
there  were  many,  it  was  startling,  as  well  as  pecu- 
liarly refreshing,  to  hear  the  sudden  summons  of 


164  Judge  Dairy mple 

Daniel  Webster  from  the  yard  to  tell  Henry  Clay 
to  draw  a  bucket  of  fresh  water  and  put  it  on  the 
shelf;  or,  Susannah  Wesley  commanded  to  get 
Jezebel  and  bring  a  basket  of  peaches  from  the 
orchard  to  the  house. 

A  second  manifestation  of  Judge  Dalrym pie's 
pleasantry  appeared  in  the  fresh  and  happy  way 
in  which  he  coined  words  and  phrases  to  describe 
occurrences,  or  a  character  before  him.  These 
new  terms  always  came  forth  with  a  touch  of 
humor  upon  them,  and  with  such  a  sense  of  ap- 
propriateness, that  the  word  from  that  hour  be- 
came a  fixture,  and  could  not  be  dislodged  from 
the  family  vocabulary. 

The  Judge's  new  term  for  the  application  of 
a  switch  to  a  child  was  ^'Tidrei."  Just  why  and 
how  this  expression  was  born  back  of  those 
thoughtful  dark  eyes,  and  faintly  smiling  mouth, 
no  one  could  tell,  but  the  word  from  the  moment 
of  its  birth  completely  banished  from  the  home 
all  such  commonplace  terms  as  whipping,  spank- 
ing, and  chastising.  It  became  the  standard  and 
a  standing  phrase.  The  child  was  gravely  asked 
if  he  wanted  some  "Tidrei."  At  first  before 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil  had  entered  into  his 
physical  garden,  the  little  one,  thinking  it  was 
some  kind  of  tea  or  nice  drink,  said,  very  eagerly, 
''yes,  he  wanted  some."    But  after  the  first  ap- 


Judge  Dairy  mple  165 


plication  and  infliction,  it  was  most  amazing  to 
observe  the  violent  shaking  of  the  curly  head, 
when  the  old  question  was  put,  "Would  you  like 
some  Tidreif"  It  was  remarkable  how  the  prom- 
ise of  this  strange,  foreign-sounding  dish  quieted 
a  fretting  youngster.  The  very  inquiiy  would 
seem  to  plunge  him  in  the  deepest  thought,  not 
to  say  melancholy.  He  was  doubtless  recalling 
the  taste  of  the  dish  which  had  been  last  served 
up  to  him. 

Another  word,  coined  by  the  Judge,  was  "Brig- 
getty."  He  first  applied  it  to  a  young  lady  who 
had  been  on  the  matrimonial  market  for  some 
years.  Her  evident  desire  to  please  the  other  sex, 
her  bird-like  hoppings  about  the  room,  her  lan- 
guishing glances,  side-tilting  movements  of  the 
head,  constant  opening  and  shutting  of  her  fan 
with  a  fluttering  sound,  her  twisting  and  turning 
about  on  chair  and  sofa,  with  numerous  other 
phenomena,  brought  forth  from  the  thoughtful, 
but  wide  awake,  observant  man,  the  words,  "she 
is  briggetty." 

Asked  for  the  translation  of  the  word  **  brig- 
getty," he  looked  up  with  a  merry  sparkle  in  his 
eye  and  answered,  "the  definition  is,  wants  to  get 
married."  The  next  moment  lie  took  up  a  treatise 
on  Ancient  Egypt,  and  seemed  absorbed  in  its 
pages. 


166  Judge  Dairy mple 

From  that  moment  the  word  was  admitted  into 
the  vernacular  of  the  family.  In  addition,  how- 
ever, to  this,  it  worked  its  way  through  the  vari- 
ous outlying  circles  of  near  relatives,  distant 
kindred,  friends  and  acquaintances,  and  finally 
established  itself  in  the  dialect  of  the  community. 
Woe  after  that  to  any  young  marriageable  wo- 
man with  restless  ways  and  nervous  movements  of 
the  body.  She  was  at  once  branded  ''briggetty"! 
The  whole  town  saw  it  and  said  it,  and  the  Dal- 
rympian  sentence  clung  to  the  unfortunate  female 
until  the  grave  claimed  her  form,  or  her  name  was 
changed  by  means  of  a  circuit  clerk  and  a  clergy- 
man to  the  patronymic  of  another. 


II 
THE  GARDENEPv 

In  addition  to  his  indebtedness  to  the  house- 
hold and  plantation  servants  for  occasions  and 
causes  of  amusement.  Judge  Dalrymple  obtained 
not  infrequent  mental  diversion  and  refreshment 
from  conversations  held  with  his  gardener,  Mich- 
ael 0 'Flaherty. 

The  latter  was  a  native  of  the  Emerald  Isle, 
and  fifteen  years  before  had  emigrated  to  this 
country  to  better  his  fortunes,  or  more  truly 
speaking,  his  misfortunes.    From  working  on  the 


Judge  Dairy ui pie  167 

river  levees,  and  ditching  in  fields,  he  had  taken 
to  gardening,  and  finally  drifted  to  the  town  of 
Bridgeton,  where  he  performed  all  kinds  of  odd 
jobs  until  he  fell  under  the  notice  of  Judge  Dal- 
lymple,  and  presented  himself  a  candidate  for  the 
position  of  keeper  and  tiller  of  his  flower  yard 
and  kitchen  garden. 

When  Michael  first  stood  before  the  Judge,  the 
success  of  his  application  was  assured  if  from 
nothing  more  than  his  personal  appearance. 

The  ends  of  his  red  shaggy  eyebrows  had  a 
comical  twist  upward,  creating  the  impression 
that  he  was  about  to  laugh,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
downward  droop  of  the  corners  of  his  mouth, 
which  indicated  as  clearly  a  disposition  to  cry. 
The  nose,  however,  sided  with  the  eyebrows  in  the 
tie  vote  of  the  countenance,  and  by  its  unmistaka- 
ble ''turnup,"  secured  the  majority  in  the  facial 
decision  for  comicality.  This  victory  by  the  nos- 
tril was  won  not  alone  by  its  sudden  skyward  lift 
at  the  end,  but  by  its  color,  which,  from  long 
proximity  to  a  stubby  black  pipe,  had  assumed 
the  tint  of  fine  burnt  old  china,  or  richly  glazed 
porcelain. 

Judge  Dalrymple  saw  with  a  glance  at  Michael 
that  he  would  be  to  him  the  equivalent  of  out- 
ings, excursions,  and  even  mountain  and  seaside 
resorts.     He  inwardly  agreed,  as  Michael,  with 


168  Judge  Dalrymple 

a  shrill,  squeaky  voice  had  urged  his  own  claims, 
''that  twinty  dollars  a  mouth,  with  beer,  bed,  and 
board  found,  would  be  chape  enough." 

"It  certainly  will,"  replied  Judge  Dalrymple, 
thinking  of  a  very  different  thing  from  Michael. 
"You  can  consider  yourself  engaged." 

And  so  the  son  of  Erin  was  installed  as  head 
over  the  flower  and  kitchen  garden,  taking  his 
meals  at  the  second  table  and  sleeping  in  an  office 
in  the  back  yard. 

While  Judge  Dalrymple  was  concluding  ar- 
rangements with  his  prospective  gardener, 
Michael 's  eyes  had  taken  in  the  sight  of  the  thou- 
sands of  volumes  lining  three  sides  of  the  Judge's 
study.  Eecalling,  at  the  same  time,  what  he  had 
heard  around  town  about  this  same  gentleman's 
learning,  he  conceived  the  silly  notion  that  he 
would  rise  higher  in  the  confidence  and  good 
gi-aces  of  his  employer  if  he  would  lay  claim  him- 
self to  considerable  literaiy  attainments. 

With  this  brilliant  idea  in  his  mind,  and  which 
he  regarded  as  a  happy  inspiration,  and  for 
which  he  paid  dearly  in  mental  torture  there- 
after through  the  humorous  turn  of  Judge  Dal- 
rjTiiple,  Michael  in  a  single  hour,  if  not  moment, 
became  a  deeply  read  man,  and  made  for  his 
pedestal  that  which  turned  out  to  be  a  pillory. 

In  coming  into  the  garden  that  very  afternoon 


Judge  Dalrymple  169 


to  give  his  employee  some  general  directions, 
Judge  Dalrymple  casually  dropped  a  remark 
about  a  certain  book  on  horticultural  and  land- 
scape gardening,  a  real  scientific  volume,  when 
to  his  surprise,  Michael  declared  he  had  read  it. 

A  few  adroit  questions  from  the  Judge  brought 
out  the  literaiy  humbug  before  him,  and  caused 
the  laying  of  his  plans  at  once.  Without  a  sign  be- 
ing exhibited  that  he  suspected  the  genuineness  of 
Michael's  claim  to  a  wide  and  diversified  read- 
ing, Judge  Dalrymple  proceeded  to  put  questions 
and  drop  remarks  in  a  manner  calculated  to  puz- 
zle a  stronger  head  than  that  of  his  gardener. 
But,  behold,  Mr.  0 'Flaherty  had  read  all  the 
books  that  were  mentioned;  some  while  crossing 
the  ocean,  others  in  a  mysterious  kind  of  Public 
Library,  and  still  others  from  an  equally  indis- 
tinct individual  called  Jamie  McFadden,  who  kept 
a  book  stall  somewhere  and  had  loaned  or  sold 
him  the  volumes. 

If  pressed  to  declare  a  part  of  the  contents  of 
tlie  book  under  discussion,  he  really  ^'disremim- 
bered"  the  exact  language  just  now,  "but  it  was  a 
moity  fine  book,  to  be  shure."  His  excuse  for  such 
a  wide  range  of  forgetfulness  as  was  soon  mani- 
fested on  his  part,  would  be  accounted  for  at  an- 
other time  by  ''biliousness  in  the  spring."  In 
the  summer  his  memory  was  not  reliable.     The 


170  Judge  Dalrymple 

autumn  months  brought  a  dizziness  to  his  head, 
and  in  the  winter,  dates  and  names,  as  well  as  gen- 
eral facts,  seemed  to  leave  him. 

Driven  soon  to  other  points  of  attack,  the  Judge 
began  to  invent  the  most  remarkable  titles  that 
were  ever  heard  or  not  heard  of,  seen  or  not  seen 
on  the  side  or  back  of  a  book;  but  Michael  0 'Fla- 
herty was  never  taken  aback;  astonishing  as  was 
the  name,  and  amazing  the  subject  treated,  he 
had  seen  or  read  portions  of  that  very  volume, 
*'and,  faith,  it  was  an  illegant  book." 

On  discovering  the  length  and  breadth  of  this 
peculiar  weakness,  Mr.  Daliymple  did  anything 
but  grieve.  Sauntering  into  one  or  the  other  of 
the  gardens,  where  Michael  would  be  using  the 
spade,  hoe,  or  great  shears,  as  he  was  working 
amid  vegetables,  flowers  or  the  hedges,  the  Judge 
would  begin  a  conversation,  wherein  all  manner 
of  verbal  traps  and  pitfalls  would  be  laid,  and 
into  which  the  gardener  would  most  incontinent- 
ly fall  every  time,  and  yet  never  seem  to  realize 
the  full  extent  of  the  catastrophe. 

"Good  morning  to  you,  Mr.  0 'Flaherty;  the  top 
of  the  morning  to  you." 

Michael  would  take  his  foot  from  the  spade  and, 
resting  his  arm  upon  the  handle,  would  reply  in 
his  rich  brogue,  and  with  those  peculiar  rising 
inflections  heard  so  often  in  Irish  speech: 


Judge  Dairy  mple  171 

"Tlie  same  to  you,  Meester  Dalryinple,  and  all 
the  mimbers  of  your  family." 

Then  the  employer  would  gradually  introduce 
various  topics  of  a  literary  character  and  speak 
of  volumes  with  most  remarkable  titles  which  he 
had  himself  invented.  But  simple  or  complex, 
it  was  all  the  same  to  this  accommodating  son  of 
Erin,  who,  it  seems,  had  perused  everything  from 
an  Egyptian  Scroll  dug  out  of  the  sands,  to  the 
latest  publication  found  on  the  shelf  of  an  Ameri- 
can bookstand.    One  morning  the  question  was: 

''Mr.  0 'Flaherty,  did  you  ever  read  'Oriental 
Concoctions'?" 

"Yis,  yer  Honor,  and  it  was  there  that  I  got 
that  blissed  resait  for  me  rheumatism." 

"Still,"  continued  Judge  Dalrymple,  musing- 
ly, "it  was  not  equal  in  merit  from  a  strictly  lit- 
erary point  of  view  to  the  second  volume  which 
came  out  five  years  later  called  'Syracusan  Dep- 
redations.' I  suppose,  of  course,  you  read  that, 
also?" 

"Rade  it!  Shure,  and  I  jist  poured  over  it!  I 
ups  and  gives  siventy  cents  for  a  sicond-handed 
copy  to  Jamie  McFadden,  what  kapes  the  old 
book  stall  in  New  York." 

"Do  you  remember,"  queried  the  Judge,  in  a 
thoughtful,  all  but  dreamy    voice,    "how     Lord 


172  Judge  Dalrymplc 

Cornwallis  grieved  over  killing  the  only  son  of 
Charlemagne  at  the  battle  of  Salgamundi  ? " 

''Eemimber  it!  Didn't  I  tell  Jamie  McFadden 
it  was  the  foinest  thing  in  the  book.''  All  this 
with  evident  uneasiness. 

"Still,"  pursued  the  Judge,  with  his  reflective 
voice,  "I  have  been  compelled  to  think  that  the 
last  work  of  Mr.  Periwinkle,  the  author,  is  the 
best  of  the  three.  Doubtless  you  remember  the 
name;  it  escapes  me  just  now." 

"Shure,  and  no  name  is  any  better  remimbered, 
but  in  the  Spring  of  the  year.  I  gets  a  little  bilious 

"Was  it  not  Hypotechnic  Concatenations?" 
broke  in  Judge  Dalrymple. 

"Thrue  as  ye  spoke  the  word,  that  was  the 
name,"  replied  Michael,  while  his  eyes  assumed 
a  wild  look,  and  he  wiped  off  the  heavy  drops  of 
moisture  from  his  forehead.  His  mental  labor 
was  evidently  proving  more  exhausting  than  his 
manual  toil. 

"Do  you  recall  in  it,"  continued  the  inexorable 
Judge,  "the  touching  farewell  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte to  his  youngest  daughter  on  her  marriage 
with  the  Prince  of  Abyssinia?" 

"Now,  didn't  I  shid  tears  over  it,  and  rade  it 
to  Jamie  McFadden,  and  the  spalpeen  couldn't 
slape  that  night  for  thinking  about  it!"    All  this 


Judge  Dairy m  pie  173 

was  said  by  Michael,  with  an  attempted  air  of 
melancholy,  while  he  was  anxiously  wishing  the 
''Concatenations,"  with  all  the  other  "Oriental 
Concoctions"  had  gone  up  in  the  "Syracusan 
Depredations,"  no  matter  whether  those  "depre- 
dations" were  pigs  in  a  pratie  field  or  raids  of 
the  police  on  a  disreputable  row  of  tenement 
houses  in  the  darkest  part  of  a  great  city. 

At  junctures  like  these,  the  Judge,  seeing  that 
the  mental  wagon  of  his  gardener  was  already 
overloaded  and  could  carry  no  more  for  that  day, 
would  withdraw,  leaving  Mr.  0 'Flaherty  with  one 
foot  on  his  spade,  wiping  his  face,  shaking  his 
head  vigorously,  and  breathing  as  if  he  had  been 
running  a  race. 

As  for  the  Judge,  he  would  retire  to  his  Study, 
or  to  one  of  the  quiet  nooks  in  which  his  shrub- 
bery yard  abounded,  and  there,  sitting  down  on 
a  rustic  settee,  would,  with  shaking  shoulders, 
give  way  to  a  perfect  fit  of  noiseless  laughter, 
while  wiping  his  eyes  and  crying  out,  "Ah-me! 
Ah-me"!  He  had  attended  a  picnic,  enjoyed  an 
outing,  taken  a  trip,  so  to  speak,  to  distant  lands 
and  secured  a  brain  rest  and  yet  had  not  left 
home. 

Ten  minutes  afterward,  the  grave,  thoughtful 
face  would  be  bent  over  manuscript,  which  ap- 
peared afterward  in  the  literary  world  in  the 


174  Judge  Dairy mple 

form  of  a  volume  on  Mathematics,  a  second  on 
Astronomy,  and  a  third  on  Theology,  all  three  of 
which  were  pronounced  by  able  critics,  on  both 
sides  of  the  water,  as  books  evidencing  beyond 
question  that  a  master  mind  was  their  author. 


Ill 
THE  COACHMAN 

Among  the  negro  servants  who  idled  around 
the  house  and  yard  of  Judge  Dalrymple,  nodded  in 
the  sunshine,  went  through  the  motions  of  doing 
something,  and  yet  never  did  much  of  anything, 
was  Zephaniah,  the  driver  of  the  family  carriage. 
His  special  work  was  to  groom  the  two  steeds 
which  drew  the  equipage,  and  to  drive  Mrs.  Dal- 
rymple therein  about  once  a  week  to  Bloomville, 
the  county  seat,  some  ten  miles  away,  on  a  shop- 
ping expedition. 

The  vehicle  was  quite  a  stately  affair,  and 
boasted  three  springs,  two  of  which  were  placed 
transversely  on  the  back  axletree,  thus  allowing, 
if  not  causing  a  rocking  and  rolling  movement 
when  in  progress  that  gave  to  it  a  flavor  of  the 
sea.  The  driver's  seat  was  almost  on  a  level  with 
the  top  of  the  vehicle,  so  that  when  the  carriage 
movement  was  in  its  greatest  oscillations  through 


Judge  Dalrymple  175 

ruts  in  the  road,  the  coachman  had  to  respond 
with  his  body  in  opposite  bendings  in  order  to 
keep  his  seat  at  all;  so  that  in  addition  to  sug- 
gested figures  of  billow  and  ship,  the  imaginative 
mind  could  easily  see  the  sailor  on  the  stormy 
deck,  trying  to  bring  the  vessel  home. 

The  two  horses,  called  Gath  and  Goliah,  by  Mr. 
Dalrymple,  were  mates  in  size,  but  not  in  color; 
one  being  a  glossy  bay,  and  the  other  a  dappled 
gray.  Both  were  large  and  quite  lazy  from  lack 
of  work,  and  overfeeding.  They  had  a  way  of 
arching  their  necks  and  champing  on  the  bit  un- 
til the  froth  dripped  from  their  mouths.  They, 
also,  were  given  to  trotting  sideways.  They  could 
not  be  said  to  lack  motion  when  hitched  up  and 
driven,  but  it  was  more  of  a  vertical  than  a  hori- 
zontal procedure.  In  the  words  of  stable  men, 
"they  could  trot  all  day  long  in  the  shade  of  one 
tree. ' ' 

It  was  a  spectacle  well  worth  beholding  to  see 
Zephaniah  arrayed  in  a  tall  beaver  hat  which 
somebody  had  given  him,  and  buttoned  up  to  the 
chin  in  a  long  tail  black  coat  discarded  by  Mr. 
Dalrymple,  sitting  solemnly  on  his  lofty  perch, 
and  driving  Mrs.  Dalrymple  into  Bloomville,  with 
the  dignity  that  a  royal  charioteer  would  escort 
a  queen  into  London. 

Mrs.  Dalrymple,  all  powdered,  ringletted  and 


176  Judge  Dalrymple 

brocaded,  sat  exactly  in  the  center  of  the  back 
seat,  and  gazed  in  a  kind  of  reverie  out  of  the  car- 
riage window  at  the  slowly  passing  scenery,  while 
Gatli  and  Goliah  flung  the  foam  from  their  bits, 
tossed  their  heads,  made  a  curious  jugging  sound 
in  their  stomachs,  and  trotted  sideways  down  the 
road  until  out  of  sight  of  the  town. 

Zephaniah,  on  such  trips,  wore  his  stovepipe 
tilted  back  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  held 
his  whip  poised  over  the  horses,  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  immovably  upon  them,  and  looked  exceed- 
ingly dignified.  He,  without  question,  greatly 
appreciated  the  position  he  held,  and,  though  he 
gave  no  sign  to  that  effect,  yet  was  perfectly  cog- 
nizant of,  and  enjoyed  as  well,  the  admiring  and 
wondering  glances  which  were  cast  upon  him  by 
his  own  family  and  fellow  ser\^ants,  as  he  drove 
down  the  public  road  with  his  mistress  or  swept 
back  in  the  afternoon  or  evening  with  the  seats 
loaded  with  paper  bundles  and  packages  pur- 
chased by  that  lady  in  the  County  Emporium. 

The  steeds,  Gath  and  Goliah,  were  made  the  me- 
dium by  Judge  Dalrj^mple  of  obtaining  no  little 
amusement  at  the  expense  of  Zephaniah.  For,  be 
it  understood,  that  with  all  his  dignity,  the  car- 
riage driver  was  not  famous  for  intellectual  bril- 
liancy or  profundity.  Perhaps,  in  this  respect,  he 
may  not  altogether  be  alone.    In  fact,  history  and 


Judge  Dalrymple  177 

life  are  full  of  hints  that  Dignity  can  exist,  and 
even  flourish,  without  brains  or  merit.  "Sirs," 
says  the  triumphant  psychological  explorer  and 
investigator,  "I  find  it  can  exist  without  any- 
thing!" 

Anyhow,  to  come  back  to  Zeph,  he  was  not  par- 
ticularly bright,  and  was  easily  mentally  confused. 
In  recognition  of  this,  Mr.  Dalr\anple  was  accus- 
tomed to  give  an  order  to  his  coachman  which, 
while  causing  amusement  to  the  master,  invariably 
brought  perplexity  to  the  mind  and  a  woe-begone 
countenance  to  the  servant.  The  command  at  first 
appeared  simple  enough,  but  it  had  a  way  of  be- 
coming a  mystery  and  developing  into  a  profound 
puzzle  in  the  course  of  a  very  few  minutes.  The 
order  was: 

''Zoroaster,  I  want  you  to  turn  out  the  Bay  to- 
day, and  saddle  the  Gray." 

Zeph  would  say,  ''All  right,  IMars  John,"  and 
go  towards  the  stable  repeating  the  words  so  as 
to  make  no  mistake.  "Turn  out  the  Bay  and  sad- 
dle the  Gray;  turn  out  the  Bay  and  saddle  the 
Gray ;  turn  out  the  Gray  and  saddle  the  Bay ;  turn 
out  the  Bay  and  saddle  the  Gray;  turn  out  the 
Gray  and  saddle  the  Bay,"  and  by  the  time  he  had 
gone  one  hundred  yards  he  was  hopelessly  in  the 
dark  as  to  what  was  to  be  done. 

Of  course,  he  had  to  return  to  Mr,  Dalrj^mple, 


178  Judge  Dairy mple 

who  would  look  up  with  a  bland  smile  from  his 
book  or  writing  at  the  mystified  countenance  of 
the  servant  as  he  said: 

"Mars  John,  I  done  clean  forgot  whut  boss  I 
mus'  saddle,  en  which  un  I  mus'  tu'n  out.  Am  it 
Gathor  Goliah!" 

''Didn't  I  tell  you,"  said  the  Judge,  with  twink- 
ling eyes,  "to  saddle  the  Bay  and  turn  out  the 
Gray?" 

"Yes,  sah,  you  sho'ly  did,"  answered  Zeph,  ex- 
panding into  a  broad  grin,  "but  some  how  er 
nuther,  Mars  John,  dem  bosses  gits  mixed  fob  I 
kin  reach  de  lot." 

"The  way  to  manage  it,"  replied  his  master,  "is 
to  keep  repeating  my  order  until  you  come  to  the 
stable." 

' '  Dat  's  de  vah  'y  thing  I  done  did,  sah,  en  dars 
whar  I  got  all  mussed  up,  en  puts  de  saddle  on  de 
wrongst  boss." 

"The  only  thing  to  do,"  said  Mr.  Dalrymple, 
with  assumed  gravity,  "is  to  try  again.  I  believe, 
however,  I  will  change  my  mind  about  the  horse 
and  use  the  Gray  instead  of  the  Bay.  So  please 
turn  out  the  Bay  and  saddle  the  Gray." 

Zephaniah  at  once  started  off  with  the  facial 
expression  of  a  mathematician  having  a  great 
problem  on  bis  mind.  Mr.  Dalrymple  could  see 
his  mouth  working  as  he  walked  away,  and  knew 


Judge  Dalrymple  179 

he  was  whispering  **turn  out  the  Bay  and  sad- 
dle the  Gray, ' '  thus  trying  to  keep  the  order  fixed 
and  corect  in  his  mind  until  he  could  lay  his  hands 
upon  the  horses  themselves.  By  and  by,  he 
saw  Zepli  stop,  look  down  on  the  ground,  scratch 
his  head,  go  on  again,  look  up  in  the  air,  turn 
around,  make  several  circles,  start  back  for  the 
house,  stop  again,  wheel  toward  the  stable,  drag 
his  feet  heavily  after  him,  and,  reaching  the  lot 
gate,  lean  his  head  in  evident  despair  upon  one  of 
the  posts. 

Upon  seeing  this,  the  Judge  sank  back  in  a  chair 
and  shook  with  silent  laughter  until  it  looked  as 
if  his  shoulders  would  be  dislocated. 

It  rarely  happened  that  Zeph  brought  the  right 
horse  to  the  hitching  rack  or  mounting  block,  but 
it  really  did  not  matter,  as  Mr.  Dalrymple 's  rides 
were  very  short  ones,  and  both  animals  were  fairly 
perishing  from  lack  of  exercise,  much  less  work. 
When,  therefore,  as  it  most  frequently  occurred, 
the  wrong  steed  would  appear,  the  Judge  would 
say  nothing,  and  Zeph,  thinking  he  had  remem- 
bered rightly,  would  take  the  first  easy  breath  he 
had  drawn  in  the  last  half  hour. 

Zephaniah,  alias  Zoroaster,  as  Mr.  Dalrymple 
would  occasionally  call  him,  was,  as  has  been 
said,  also  an  exhorter  or  preacher  in  his  church. 
Sunday  afternoon  and  night  he  exercised  his  gifts 


180  Judge  Dalrymple 

on  a  little  sable  flock  in  town,  and  sometimes 
preached  on  the  Dalrymple  plantation  a  few  miles 
away.  What  he  lacked  in  intellect  he  made  up  in 
lung  power,  and  where  he  failed  in  expounding,  he 
certainly  succeeded  in  pounding.  Possessed  of  a 
rich,  full  voice,  with  a  tremulous  movement  to  it 
that  he  could  summon  up  at  will,  and  which  pecu- 
liarly affected  his  hearers,  Zeph's  fame  had  gone 
forth  over  a  number  of  plantations,  penetrated  the 
Black  Jack  neighborhood,  and  even  reached  Piney 
Creek,  some  eight  or  ten  miles  north  of  the  Bridge- 
ton  and  Bloomville  road. 

Having  only  a  couple  of  fat,  lazy  horses  to  feed 
and  curry,  a  carriage  to  wash  and  drive,  Zepli  had 
abundance  of  leisure  time  on  hand  wherein  to  pre- 
pare his  sermons  for  the  next  Sabbath.  This  may 
have  accounted  in  part  for  a  great  way  he  had  of 
talking  to  himself  in  the  bam  and  lot.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  enjoyment  of  listening  to  himself,  he 
loved  to  hear  others,  but  mainly  for  the  reason 
that  it  furnished  an  excuse  for  him  to  stop  work. 
Zeph's  crowning  joy  was  to  hold  forth  to 
others  on  monologue  lines,  his  favorite  subjects 
being ' '  Moh  'als  en  'Ligion. ' '  He  had  other  topics, 
but  these  seemed  to  lie  nearest  to  his  heart. 

It  is  to  be  regretted,  however,  that  all  of  Zeph's 
auditors  did  not  have  confidence  in  him.  The  fact 
was  to  be  chronicled  that  on  certain  occasions,  the 


Judge  Dairy  mple  181 

carriage  driver  and  exhorter  would  come  into  pos- 
session of  a  peculiarly  fragrant  breath,  attended 
with  difficulties  in  holding  up  the  head  and  walk- 
ing straight.  And  while  it  is  true  that  at  those 
times  Zeph  would  talk  more  about  religion  than 
ever,  yet  the  faith  of  quite  a  number  were  shaken 
in  him.  Still,  he  had  his  following,  and  Mr.  Dal- 
rymple  pardoned  and  forgot  these  wanderings  of 
his  serv^ant  because  of  their  great  rareness,  and 
on  account  of  the  numerous  remaining  excellences 
of  the  slave. 

It  was  one  of  Judge  Dalrjanple 's  keenest  pleas- 
ures and  recreations,  as  well,  to  inveigle  Zephan- 
iah  into  an  argument,  theological,  ecclesiastical, 
religious  or  otherwise  in  character,  and  leave  his 
servant,  not  knowing,  figuratively  speaking, 
whether  he  was  on  his  head  or  heels. 

Zephaniah  was  wordy,  without  being  brainy, 
and  his  efforts  to  escape  Mr.  Daliymple's  verbal 
traps,  pitfalls  and  sentence  entanglements;  his  ad- 
vances and  retreats;  his  absurd  answers,  and 
oftentimes  his  overwhelmed  mental  state,  while 
his  master  talked  on  with  a  most  imposing  array 
of  jaw-breaking  and  remarkable  sentences,  af- 
forded a  psychological  phenomenon  not  set  down 
in  books  and  rarely  to  be  beheld  in  life. 

One  afternoon  Zeph  was  leaning  against  the 
stable  gate  and  communing  with  Polydore,  a  lame 


182  Judge  Dalrymple 


darkey  who  slopped  the  cows,  fed  the  pigs  and  at- 
tended to  the  woodpile.  He  was  having  the  double 
pleasure  of  hearing  himself  talk  and  of  being 
heard  by  another.  With  his  anns  resting  on  a 
transverse  bar,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  "Big 
House"  that  he  might  not  be  suri^rised  in  his 
neglect  of  the  day's  labor,  Zeph  enlarged  on  the 
mysteries  of  toothache. 

' '  Doan  tell  me  nuffin  'tall  'bout  no  toof .  Doan 
tell  me  'er  man's  toof  ain'  got  no  sense.  I  tells 
you  I  knows  better.  Kaze  whut  mek  dat  toof  er 
mine  'halve  lak  hit  did?  Wen  de  mizrA'  was 
moh'n  I  could  stan',  en  I  sot  down  in  dat  chur  fur 
dat  doctor  ter  pull  hit  out;  w'en  dat  toof  seed  dat 
par  er  tongs  dat  man  'gin  ter  poke  in  my  mouf,  I 
tell  you  de  Gospill  truf,  dat  toof  done  stop  achin' 
right  den  an  dar!  I  riz  up  en  tole  dat  Doctor,  dat 
I  was  mistook,  dat  de  toof  was  all  right,  but  de 
mizry  was  in  my  haid.  An',  Suh!  he  sholy  lak  ter 
cuss  me  outen  de  office." 

**Now  den,"  continued  Zeph,  crossing  one  fin- 
ger with  another,  as  he  had  seen  Judge  Dalrymple 
do  in  an  argument,  and  gazing  at  Polydore  with 
a  wise  and  solemn  look,  *' w'at  you  reckon  dat  toof 
do  arter  dat?  I  doan  moh'n  git  two  mile  fum 
town,  en  cross  de  terry,  en  ain'  got  no  money  ter 
git  back  ter  dat  doctor,  w'en  dat  toof  riz  right  up 
en  gwiae  to  achin'  agin.    No  Suh  I  You  cain  tell 


Judge  Dairy ui pie  183 

Die  nuffin'  tall  'bout  no  toof.  Dey's  got  sense  I  tell 
you,  nigger." 

x\t  this  moment  Zeph  and  Polydore  saw  Judge 
Dalrymple  approaching  down  the  path  from  the 
house,  whereupon  they  immediately  separated, 
Polydore  to  the  wood  yard,  while  Zeph,  retiring 
into  the  stable,  began  diligently  raking  straw  in 
the  stalls  of  Gath  and  Goliali,  and  singing  with  his 
tremulous  attachment,  an  old  Methodist  hymn  full 
of  minor  notes.  AVhen  Mr.  Dalrymple  reached  the 
lot  gate  and  called  him,  of  course  Zeph  was  much 
surprised,  and  answered  from  within  the  stable: 

"Who  dat  callen  me!" 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Zeph  was  as  fully 
aware  that  it  was  his  master  speaking  as  that  it 
was  himself  answering.  At  the  repetition  of  the 
call,  the  carriage  driver  broke  out  in  a  guffaw  of 
sudden  recognition  and  said: 

''Well,  I  'clare  ter  grashus,  hit's  Mars  John  er 
callin'  me.    Whut  yer  want.  Mars  John'?" 

None  of  this  little  by-play  or  acting  was  lost  on 
the  Judge,  but  he  was  not  a  severe  master,  and 
so,  with  some  inward  smiling,  he  replied: 

"I  want  you.  Bishop.    Come  here." 

The  fact  was  that  Mr.  Dalrymple  had  been 
studying  hard  all  day,  and  left  his  library  late 
this  aftemoon  in  search  of  a  mental  outing.  He 
had  hesitated  at  the  fork  of  the  paths  leading  to 


184  Judge  Dalrymple 

the  garden  and  stable,  and  oscillated  in  mind  for  a 
while  between  Mr.  0 'Flaherty  and  Zephaniah. 
But  this  time  he  concluded  to  patronize  the  coach- 
man. 

Zepli  hated  work,  and  enjoyed  all  conversa- 
tions, but  especially  those  which  allowed  a  great 
deal  of  sitting.  He  always  hailed  with  pleasure, 
communing  seasons  with  his  Master  for  the  double 
reason  that  all  manual  labor  ceased  with  him,  and 
while  Mr.  Dalrj^mple  soon  had  him  completely 
mentally  confused  and  bewildered,  yet  he  would 
secure  a  fresh  supply  of  high  sounding  words  and 
phrases,  which  he  carefully  preserved,  and  would 
bring  forth  on  the  following  Sabbath  to  his  sable 
colored,  nodding  audiences,  if  not  with  edification 
to  them,  then,  at  least  with  gratification  to  him- 
self. 

It  was  owing,  perhaps,  to  the  gathering  shad- 
ows of  the  evening,  that  the  Judge  selected  his 
topic  from  the  domain  of  superstition  on  this  oc- 
casion, and  so  clearing  his  throat  and  resting  one 
of  his  long  slender  limbs  on  a  bar  of  the  gate,  he 
said: 

'* Zoroaster,  do  you  believe  in  ghosts?'* 

Instantly  a  goodly  portion  of  the  whites  of 
Zeph's  eyes  began  to  appear,  and  looking  hastily 
over  each  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  shadowy 


Judge  Dalryniple  185 

parts  of  the  lot,  he  said,  with  most  unmistakable 
sincerity : 

**Why,  Mars  John,  whut  meks  you  ax  me  dat 
question,  sah?    En  cose  I  do,  sah!" 

Then  followed  from  Mr.  Dalrymple's  lips,  a 
most  nerv^e-tiwing  narration  from  history  and  fic- 
tion, nothing  being  overlooked  in  the  matter  of 
accent  and  proper  dwelling  upon  certain  features 
of  the  case;  while  the  white  circles  of  Zeph's  eyes 
steadily  enlarged,  and  from  occasional  "Humphs" 
and  ''Lawd  hev  musseys,"  the  Keeper  of  Gath 
and  Goliah  was  driven  into  an  almost  breathless 
silence,  with  restless  turnings  of  body  and  back- 
ward glances  toward  the  darkening  stable  and 
gloomy  strip  of  woods  beyond. 

When  Mr.  Dalrymple  ceased  and  started  to  re- 
turn to  the  house,  Zephaniah  made  arrangements 
to  make  as  immediate  a  departure.  Bars  were  left 
down,  sundry  inner  doors  to  the  groat  bam  and 
stable  remained  unlocked,  and  Gath  and  Goliah 
were  decidedly  slighted  while  Zeph  rushed 
through  a  few  necessary  duties,  hurried  over  the 
stile,  almost  raced  along  the  path  through  the  or- 
chard, and  around  the  back  of  the  garden,  until 
he  reached  his  lowly  cabin,  where  the  presence  of 
Cynthy  Ann,  his  wife,  and  his  romping  youngsters 
on  the  jumcheon  floor  brought  him  some  measure 
of  mental  relief. 


186  Judge  Dairy mple 

On  this  nigbt  Zeph  stayed  closely  at  home, 
seemed  unusually  religious,  and  sang  a  number 
of  hymns  with  great  ferver  and  unction,  one  of 
which  began, 

"Why  should  we  start  and  fear  to  die.*' 

On  still  other  occasions,  Mr.  Dalrymple  would 
eschew  superstition  and  spiritualism,  and  ap- 
proach his  servant  with  ponderous  arguments  and 
most  remarkable  polysyllabic  utterances  in  the 
controversial  fields  of  Science,  Religion,  Church 
and  State,  and  Theology.  Of  course,  there  were 
many  sentences  which  the  Judge  did  not  attempt 
to  understand  himself. 

It  was  a  study  to  watch  the  master  and  slave 
begin  and  carry  on  one  of  these  colloquies,  in 
which  they  would  pass  through  the  lot  gate,  walk 
around  each  other,  fall  back  toward  the  stable, 
and  wind  up  sometimes  in,  or  else  close  to  the 
stalls  of  Gath  and  Goliah. 

Repeatedly,  as  the  conversation  or  argument 
progressed,  Mr.  Daliymple  would  show  signs  of 
apoplexy,  but  would  recover;  yet  later  have  one 
of  his  shaking  fits  in  his  arm  chair  in  his  study. 
As  for  Zeph 's  face,  it  was  a  study,  as  looks  of  as- 
tonishment and  bewilderment,  with  assumed  ex- 
pressions of  wisdom  and  comprehension  of  the 


Judge  Dalrym]')le  187 

subject  in  hand  followed  in  quick  order,  not  to 
say  disorder,  upon  it. 

*'You  see,  Zoroaster,"  said  the  Judge  one  morn- 
ing to  Zeph  as  the  carriage  driver  stood,  curry 
comb  in  hand,  near  the  bam  door,  ' '  The  cachina- 
tions  of  theological  nomenclature  have  conspired 
to  obliterate  the  perturbed  conditions  and  rela- 
tions of  sociology,  political  economy  and  civil 
jurisprudence.  This  in  turn  has  reversed  all  in- 
ternational transubstantiation  and  established  the 
logarithm  of  the  general  parallax  of  the  uni- 
verse. ' ' 

"Dat's  de  vah'y  thing  I  say'd  to  Cynthy  Ann 
yistiddy,"  replied  Zeph,  rolling  his  eyes  and 
speaking  in  a  low,  awe-struck  tone. 

"What  did  you  tell  Cynthy  Ann?"  inquired 
Mr.  Dalrymple,  with  sparkling  optics. 

'*  'Bout  dat  log,  en  dem  pair  o'  axes  youse  bin 
talkin'  bout." 

Mr.  Dalrymple  gave  a  sudden  snort  of  the  nos- 
trils, but  quickly  placing  his  handkerchief  over 
his  mouth,  cleared  his  throat  and  proceeded. 

"You  know,  Bishop,  that  the  affinities  of  mole- 
cular atoms,  disregarding  the  indivisibilities  of 
the  terraqueous  globe,  have  insinuated  themselves 
into  protoplastic  images  which  have  affected  tlie 
theological  hicubrations  of  many  of  the  ecclesias- 
tical systems  of  the  day." 


188  Judge  Dairy mple 

**Yes,  Lawd!  I  jes  knows  dat  am  de  blessed 
truf,"  said  Zeph,  shifting  restlessly  from  one  leg 
to  another,  while  the  lines  of  perplexity  and  anx- 
iety in  his  face  would  have  made  a  Chinese  puz- 
zle ashamed  of  itself. 

*'Now,  Zoroaster,"  continued  the  Judge,  cross- 
ing his  left  finger  with  his  right,  and  looking  the 
picture  of  argumentation  and  profound  delibera- 
tion, "the  correlating  platitudes  of  all  sublunary 
spheres  lead  necessarily  to  plenipotentiary  posi- 
tions, and,  also,  to  the  final  disintegration  of  all 
primordial  discoveries  of  the  human  family,  and 
plunge  the  differentiations  of  the  various  religious 
denominations  into  an  indescribable  vortex  com- 
pounded of  arterial  exhalations,  scientific  abstrac- 
tions, hermeneutical  deductions  and  the  extra- 
neous pomposities  of  an  antiquated  valetudina- 
rianism." 

As  this  wonderful  and  luminous  paragraph  pro- 
ceeded, Zeph  had  assumed  a  half  squatting,  half 
kneeling  position  on  the  ground,  and,  taking  a 
pine  splinter  from  the  fence,  applied  it  to  his  teeth 
with  a  most  impressed  and  abstracted  look.  And 
now,  as  Judge  Dalrymple  paused  for  breath  for  a 
moment,  and  cast  a  questioning  glance  upon  his 
listener,  the  negro  said: 

**Dat's  jes*  whut  I  bin  skeered  erbout  dis  whole 
time.    You  jes  ax  Cjmthy  Ann  ef  it  tain  so." 


Judge  Dairy mple  189 

Mr.  Dalrymple  coughed  violently  for  a  moment 
as  Zeph  made  this  reply,  but  recovered  and  re- 
sumed. 

**Now,  Zephaniah,  in  view  of  all  this,  and  in 
case  that  the  deglutition  of  one  church  should  sur- 
pass the  intermediate  constabulary  of  another, 
and  the  transportation,  not  to  say  transmigra- 
tion, of  the  first  should  etherealize  the  interlinear 
spaces  of  the  circumjacent  diaphragm  and  capil- 
laries of  the  second,  and  the  remaining  component 
elements  of  the  body  politic  should  be  projected  by 
ordinary  compulsory  evolution  into  the  cosmical 
forces  of  original  chaos;  what  would  you  do  un- 
der such  circumstances?" 

Zeph  blew  the  splinter  out  of  his  mouth,  raised 
his  head,  and  said  most  emphatically: 

"Well,  Mars  John,  I'd  tun  ev'y  one  of  'em 
outen  de  chu'ch,  ef  de  Lawd  spared  me." 

Here  the  Judge  had  one  of  his  curious  apoplectic 
looking  attacks,  and  with  a  strangling  accent, 
cried: 

"A  gourd  of  water!  Quick,  Zeph,  I've  got  a 
grain  of  sand  in  my  throat!" 

And  Zeph,  without  a  grain  of  suspicion  in  his 
mind,  ran  to  the  well  in  the  lot  and  brought  back 
some  water  in  a  moment,  and  gazed  sympathetic- 
ally at  his  master,  who,  in  attempting  to  swallow, 
spluttered  in  the  gourd,  and  spattered  the  water 


190  Judge  Dalrymple 

around  in  a  most  remarkable  manner.  Later  on 
the  Judge  was  discovered  with  one  of  his  shaking 
fits  upon  him  in  a  secluded  sr>ot  in  the  flower  yard. 


IV 
THE   CIVIL  WAR 

The  Civil  War  broke  out  at  last.  It  was  far 
enough  off  at  first,  but  came  dreadfully  near  in 
a  couple  of  years.  Vicksburg  fell,  gunboats 
ascended  the  Yazoo  River,  and  Federal  raids,  first 
of  cavalry,  then  of  infantry,  seamed  the  State  of 
Mississippi. 

Homes  were  forsaken,  cotton  bales  by  the  thou- 
sand were  burned,  and  families  refugeed  with 
their  slaves  to  Alabama  and  other  districts  of 
country  still  farther  in  the  interior.  The  silver 
ware  had  been  pitched  in  wells  by  their  owners 
for  safe  keeping,  or  buried  in  remote  nooks  of  the 
garden  or  corn  field.  Horses  and  mules  that  had 
not  gone  with  the  ''refugees"  were  rushed  to  the 
swamps,  only  to  have  their  hiding  places  betrayed 
by  those  of  the  colored  people  who  were  glad  to 
welcome  the  Northern  army. 

Mr.  Dalrymple,  always  original,  hid  his  hand- 
some gold  watch  in  an  old  cow  horn  which  he 
found  on  the  road.  Stuffing  tlie  large  end  with 
moss,  he  dropped  his  common  looking  casket  on 


Judge  Dairy m pie  191 

the  highway,  overlooking  the  fact  that  while  he 
would  not  care  to  pick  up  such  a  thing  in  a  walk, 
other  individuals  might,  could  or  would.  So  next 
day,  the  bovine  head  appendage  with  its  hidden 
treasure  was  gone,  and  the  Judge  instantly  se- 
cured a  largely  increased  stock  of  a  wisdom  of 
this  world  which  he  had  not  found  in  his  books 
of  geology. 

His  effort  to  conceal  the  family  silver  was  equal- 
ly brilliant.  Discovering  a  large  hollow  tree  in 
a  grove  beyond  his  field,  he  drove  a  number  of 
nails  along  its  inner  sides,  and  swung  upon  them, 
at  heights  varying  from  three  feet  to  twenty,  solid 
silver  pitchers,  goblets,  dishes,  ladles,  napkin 
rings,  and  whatever  else  he  possessed  in  the  white 
metal  line. 

A  week  later  there  was  a  violent  stonn,  when 
Mr.  Dalrymple,  mindful  of  the  frail  nature  of  the 
tree,  went  forth  to  the  grove  to  investigate,  when, 
lo!  while  yet  fifty  yards  away  he  saw  his  silver 
ware  flashing  through  the  woods  in  the  sunlight. 
The  hiding  place  had  been  evenly  split,  half  fall- 
ing to  the  earth  and  half  remaining  upright.  Part 
of  the  silver  was  on  the  ground,  the  rest  was  glit- 
tering in  a  most  attractive  way  upon  the  nails  on 
which  the  Judge  had  suspended  his  table  treas- 
ures. 

Mr.  Dalrv'mple,  with  his  second  discomfiture. 


192  Judge  Dairy mple 

carried  the  articles  back,  and  also  gave  orders 
that  Gath  and  Goliah,  who  had  been  stabled  for 
two  weeks  in  a  cane  brake,  be  brought  home.  A 
kind  of  reaction  had  set  in  with  him.  Neverthe- 
less, he  was  strengthened  somewhat  in  this  course 
by  the  news  that  the  Federal  Gunboats  had  re- 
turned down  the  Yazoo  River  to  Vicksburg  and 
that  there  were  no  raids  just  now  anywhere  cross- 
ing the  State. 

But  alas  for  all  human  hope  and  calculations 
in  time  of  war.  Only  the  next  day,  when  the  sil- 
ver was  back  on  the  sideboard  and  Gath  and  Go- 
liah were  in  their  stalls,  suddenly  a  long  blue  col- 
umn appeared  emerging  from  a  cloud  of  dust  in 
the  west.  It  consisted  of  an  entire  division,  com- 
manded by  a  Major  General,  with  cavalry,  infan- 
try and  artillery.  A  Confederate  Texas  brigade 
fell  back  before  it,  and  the  Northern  troops  rushed 
into  the  town. 

Mr.  Dalrymple  was  engaged  in  some  deeply  ab- 
sorbing studies,  when  a  dozen  troopers  galloped 
up  to  the  front  gate.  He,  with  his  old  Southern 
courtesy,  hardly  observing  the  uniforms,  bade 
them  "come  in";  but  this  they  were  doing  already 
without  his  invitation  or  permission.  Meantime,  a 
larger  company  had  swept  around  into  the  back 
yard,  and  shouts,  cries  and  a  noise  of  a  most  con- 
glomerate character  began  to  ascend  from  its 


Judge  Dairy 7nple  193 

depths,  as  well  as  lengths  and  breadths.  There 
were  squalls  of  captured  chickens,  angry  gob- 
blings  of  pursued  turkeys,  the  crashing  of  garden 
pickets,  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs,  the  oaths  of 
soldiers,  and  the  loud  voices  of  protest  from  faith- 
ful family  servants,  mingled  with  the  shrill,  rich 
brogue  of  Michael  0 'Flaherty. 

From  the  distant  streets  of  the  town  came  re- 
ports of  pistol  shots,  the  tramp  of  bodies  of  cav- 
alry, the  roll  of  wheels,  crack  of  whips,  cries  of 
every  kind,  and  an  occasional  distant  boom  of  a 
cannon  locating  the  continued  retreat  of  the  out- 
numbered Southerners,  as  they  fell  back  in  a 
northeasterly  direction,  pursued  by  the  Federals. 

Of  course,  the  Dalrymple  silver  went;  also  the 
contents  of  the  dairy;  and  all  the  preserves  and 
sweetmeats  in  the  storeroom  and  pantry.  The 
yard  was  swept  of  every  feathered  fowl  as  by  a  cy- 
clone, while  the  stables  were  stripped  in  a  jiffy, 
and  Gath  and  Goliah  were  soon  no  more. 

Mr.  Dalrymple  had  taken  a  few  restless  turns 
up  and  down  his  side  gallerj'-,  watching  the  sweep- 
ing away  of  his  personal  property;  then  came 
away  and  seating  himself  on  his  front  porch  fell 
naturally  in  a  melancholy  reverie.  From  this  men- 
tal state,  however,  he  was  soon  aroused  by  the 
sight  of  two  soldiers  trj^ing  to  ride  off  on  Gath 
and  Goliah.    The  spectacle  was  amusing  enough 


194  Judge  Dairy mple 

to  have  brought  a  smile  upon  the  face  of  an  Egyp- 
tian mummy. 

Gath  and  Goliah  were  not  much  given  to  going 
forward  even  under  the  skilful  management  of 
Zephaniah.  But  here,  with  the  awkward  jerks 
and  knee  pressings  of  a  couple  of  infantry  men, 
they  certainly  outdid  themselves  in  side  move- 
ments, caracoling  and  throwing  themselves  in  ev- 
ery form  of  equestrian  position.  All  the  bit- 
champing,  head-tossing,  side  trotting,  and  lofty 
rearing  of  the  past  were  as  nothing  to  the  per- 
formances which  they  now  rendered  as  a  free  ex- 
hibition to  the  terror  stricken  riders,  and  mirth 
convulsed  beholders  on  the  street. 

The  men  themselves,  knowing  nothing  of  horse- 
manship, afraid  to  jump  off  or  let  go,  held  on  like 
grim  death,  with  knees  drawn  up  high  and  clamp- 
ing the  horses  like  a  vise,  while  one  clutched 
Gath  's  mane,  and  the  other  had  his  arms  clasped 
most  fervently  around  the  neck  of  Goliah. 

Amid  merry  cries  from  fellow  soldiers  on  the 
street,  to  ''hold  'em  down,''  to  ''let  'em  out,"  to 
"turn  'em  loose"  and  ''to  fling  'em  on  their 
haunches,"  some  one  got  to  singing: 

"I  bet  my  money 

On  the  bob-tail  nag, 
And  who  dar  bet 

On  the  bay  r* 


Judge  Dalrymple  195 

in  the  midst  of  which,  lustily-sung  and  generally 
joined-in  chorus,  Gath  and  Goliah,  with  their  ut- 
terly disgusted  riders,  waltzed,  backed,  circled, 
reared,  pawed  the  air,  went  sideways,  and  finally 
disappeared  around  the  corner  from  the  sight  of 
the  lamenting  Zephaniah,  who  sat  bemoaning  their 
loss  at  the  front  gate,  and  from  the  gaze  of  Mr. 
Dalrymple,  who,  with  shaking  shoulders  and  eyes 
streaming  with  mirth,  had  beheld  the  absurd 
spectacle  to  its  close. 

Very  soon  after  this  Judge  Dalrymple  and  Mi- 
chael 0 'Flaherty  had  to  go  to  ''the  front,"  because 
of  a  stringent  draft  law.  The  latter,  being  con- 
stitutionally and  every  other  way  opposed  to  bul- 
lets and  bomb  shells,  secured  the  position  of  team- 
ster, and  thereafter  saw  to  it  that  his  wagon  head- 
ed the  procession  in  a  retreat,  and  brought  up  the 
rear  in  an  advance.  Moreover,  the  instant  he 
ceased  to  work  for  his  old  employer  all  of  his  lit- 
erary attainments  left  him  like  a  landslide.  After 
that  his  boasting  lay  in  the  line  of  fast  horses.  It 
is  needless  to  say  that  he  had  ridden  most  of  them 
and  seen  them  all. 

Mr.  Dalrymple,  after  being  mustered  in  and  as- 
signed to  duty  in  the  ranks,  was  sent  one  day  with 
an  important  message  from  one  general  to  an- 
other. He  deposited  it  in  his  pocket,  and,  becoming 
very  much  absorbed  in  a  work  on  Natural  His- 


196  Judge  Dairy  mple 

tory  which  some  one  had  secured  from  a  neigh- 
boring home,  forgot  all  about  it  for  a  whole  day. 
This  piece  of  absent-mindedness  came  near  cost- 
ing the  absence  of  the  bodies  of  an  entire  Southern 
brigade  in  a  Northern  prison.  It  also  convinced 
certain  parties  at  headquarters  that  the  Judge 
would  never  excel  in  courier  duty. 

After  this  he  was  stationed  as  a  vidette  on  the 
firing  line.  Becoming  greatly  interested  in  some 
remarkably  colored  strata  on  the  side  of  a  hill, 
he  got  into  such  an  argument  about  '*The  Geologi- 
cal Epochs"  with  a  bright-minded  soldier  com- 
panion, that  an  approaching  Federal  column 
planted  a  couple  of  balls  in  him,  one  in  his  arm 
and  the  other  in  his  leg,  while  his  own  picket  post 
saved  him  and  his  literary  friend  from  capture 
at  the  risk  of  their  lives. 

The  wounds  of  the  Judge  were  not  fatal,  but 
they  led  first  to  a  furlough,  and  finally  to  his  dis- 
charge from  the  army;  so  the  rest  of  his  days  he 
had  to  depend  upon  a  crutch  and  walking  stick 
for  successful  locomotion. 

The  War,  ending  with  the  surrender  at  Appo- 
mattox left  the  Dalrymples  enough  of  their  person- 
al and  real  estate,  as  we  have  previously  said,  to 
keep  them  in  comfort ;  and  so,  with  Zephaniah  as 
general  factotum,  and  Cynthy  Ann  in  the  kitchen, 
things   moved   along  pleasantly   enough,   if  not 


Judge  Dairy mple  197 

luxuriously.  The  income  was  slimmer  than  of 
yore,  and  the  number  of  household  servants  drop- 
ped from  ten  to  three,  but  there  was  still  a  warm 
hospitality  extended  at  the  Dalrj^mple  home,  and 
a  numerous  circle  of  friends  and  relatives  kept  the 
large  house  from  ever  becoming  lonely. 

As  for  Zephaniah,  he  had  remained  true  to  his 
Master  through  the  Raids,  the  Emancipation  pe- 
riod, and  the  Reconstruction  process.  Mr.  Dal- 
rymple,  often  accompanied  by  the  faithful  serv- 
ant, would  take  his  morning  and  evening  walk, 
leaning  partly  on  the  arm  of  the  negro  and  partly 
on  his  ebony  cane.  But  the  mind  of  the  Judge 
was  always  bright  and  active,  and  needed  no 
crutch  or  help  of  any  kind.  The  Master  and  freed 
servant  had  many  long  talks  together  on  the  sub- 
jects indicated  in  the  third  chapter,  in  which  the 
main  speaker  saw  to  it  that  for  every  ounce  of 
information  imparted,  he  added  a  pound  of  mysti- 
fication. 

Meanwhile  Zeph  never  ceased  to  grieve  over 
the  loss  of  Gath  and  Goliah.  The  solitary  grain 
of  comfort  he  seemed  to  secure  in  his  bereavement 
being  that  their  captors  never  obtained  any  real 
or  lasting  enjoyment  from  their  booty;  and,  as  he 
often  said  after  one  of  his  lamentations, 

"Dar's  one  thing  shore,  dat  de  way  dem  bosses 
was  er  gwine  w'en  I  las'  seed  'em,  dey  nuvver  got 


198  Judge  Dairy mple 

dar.  Dey  ain'  dar  yit.  Whut  dem  Sojer  men 
knows  erbout  dem  bosses,  ennybow?  Wbar  dey 
spec  to  Ian'  wid  all  dare  projickin'  on  ol'  Gatb 
an'  Goliab?  Naw,  Sub,  dey  ain'  dar  now,  an'  dey 
ain '  nuvver  gwine  to  git  dar.  You  byerd  me  talk- 
in',  doan  you  folks?" 


V 

A  FINAL  VIEW 

A  year  or  two  after  tbe  War,  Micbael  O'Fla- 
berty  put  in  a  sudden  and  dilapidated  appearance 
at  tbe  back  door  of  tbe  Dalrymple  mansion.  His 
condition,  without  a  word  being  spoken,  sbowed 
be  bad  passed  tbrougb  bard  experiences.  Of 
course,  somebody  bad  treated  bim  very  badly,  and 
be,  according  to  bis  account,  was  an  injured  in- 
nocent, a  babe  in  tbe  wood,  so  to  speak,  and  not 
even  granted  tbe  comfort  of  anotber  babe  to  suf- 
fer and  starve  witb  bim  in  tbe  forest  of  extremity. 

Judge  Dalrymple  promptly  put  tbe  stranded 
man  in  cbarge  of  tbe  garden,  and  promised  bim- 
self  rich  interviews  amid  tbe  potatoes  and  cauli- 
flowers. So,  loaded  down  to  tbe  gunwale  one  day 
witb  questions,  and  some  most  remarkable  titles, 
be  bobbled  out  for  tbe  expected  talk  and  enjoy- 
ment, and  found  to  bis  amazement  tbat  Micbael 's 


Judge  Dalrymple  199 


vast  literaiy  accumulations  had  departed.  He 
warmly  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  any  kind  of 
book  lore,  whatever,  and  would  not  even  admit 
that  he  had  ever  seen  a  Webster's  blue  back 
speller.  Evidently  the  memory  of  his  past  mental 
sufferings  was  still  so  fresh  that  the  bare  thought 
of  entering  upon  them  again  was  simply  unen- 
durable. 

So  when  the  Judge  said  he  was  confident  that 
Michael  had  read  "The  Perturbations  and  Stag- 
nation of  the  Original  Dissimulators,"  Mr.  0 'Fla- 
herty forgot  his  really  high  regard  for  his  em- 
ployer, and  made  the  air  rosy  and  palpitate  with 
some  most  fer\''ent  statements,  that  he  did  not 
know,  and  did  not  care  to  know,  and  wished  that 
the  whole  kit  and  crew  of  the  ''nation"  Judge 
Dalrymple  was  talking  about  might  land  in  the 
middle  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  hottest  world 
ever  known  to  Astronomy  and  Scripture ! 

AVhen  the  Judge  reached  one  of  his  nooks  in  the 
shrubbeiy,  his  shoulders  shook  longer  at  this  last 
sally  of  his  gardener  than  over  any  other  pre- 
vious saying  that  had  fallen  from  his  lips. 

Of  course,  the  Judge  continued  to  obtain  a  cer- 
tain measure  of  amusement  out  of  his  hired  hand, 
but  not  on  scholastic  lines.  It  verily  seemed  that 
years  after  the  decease  of  the  Know-Nothing 
party,  Michael  0 'Flaherty  became  the  embodi- 


200  Judge  Dalrymple 

ment  of  that  defunct  organization.  He  insisted 
continually  that  he  knew  nothing. 

After  a  few  years,  Mr.  Dalrymple  sank  into 
the  grave  from  the  effect  of  his  wounds.  In  his 
will  it  was  discovered  that,  among  other  bequests, 
he  had  left  a  cabin  and  twenty  acres  of  land  each 
to  Zephaniah  and  Michael  0 'Flaherty. 

It  would  be  natural  that  the  white  and  black 
man,  whom  the  Judge  had  befriended  in  life  and 
death,  should  entertain  a  peculiar  interest  in  each 
other.  First  drawn  together  by  this  single  human 
benevolent  link,  they  felt,  even  in  after  days,  the 
connecting  power,  though  the  benefactor  himself 
was  sleeping  quietly  beneath  the  sod.  They  liked 
to  meet  because  of  this  earthly  friend,  and  they 
never  met  without  sounding  his  praises. 

On  one  Sabbath,  0 'Flaherty  went  so  far  with 
this  kindly  sentiment  as  to  attend  Zephaniah 's 
church,  and  take  a  seat  on  a  back  bench.  Zephan- 
iah's  text  was  Genesis,  Chapter  32  and  Verse  10, 
As  he  read  it  haltingly  and  stumbingly  to  the 
close,  a  Bible  student  who  happened  to  be  present 
was  amazed  to  hear  the  following  unfamiliar 
words,  *'I  am  not  worth  the  last  of  all,  the  Mes- 
siah." On  returning  to  his  room,  the  student 
found  that  the  exact  language  of  the  passage  was, 
*'I  am  not  worthy  of  the  least  of  all  the  mercies." 

Zeph's  opening  remark  was: 


Judge  Dairy mple  201 

**De  constabulation  ob  de  circum'fluence  ob  true 
libbing  was  in  de  statuation  ob  kerecter." 

Michael  had  been  listlessly  looking  at  the  rows 
of  woolly  heads  before  him  until  these  remarkable 
words  fell  upon  his  ear.  Like  a  flash  his  head  was 
bent  foi-ward  in  the  most  intent  listening  attitude, 
while  an  unmistakable  panic-struck  expression  ap- 
peared in  his  face. 

Zeph,  with  rolling  eyes  and  most  eminently  sat- 
isfied manner  over  his  last  deliverance  of  wis- 
dom, resumed  his  oracular  utterance,  and  had 
spoken  thus  far  in  the  following  sentence: 

"De  pomulsions  and  conglumergations  ob  de 

reconomy "  when    Michael    arose,    suddenly 

grasped  his  hat  and  literally  shot  from  the  house. 

He  never  explained  his  sudden  departure,  nor 
could  he  be  persuaded  ever  to  hear  his  colored 
friend  again,  though  he  was  informed  that  after 
his  pompous  beginnings,  the  preacher  would  de- 
scend to  plain  English  and  deliver  really  good, 
religious  talks.  No!  Michael  wanted  no  more  of 
it  and  never  returaed. 

Zephaniah  always  believed  that  0 'Flaherty  got 
under  conviction  and  had  run  to  escape  the  ar- 
rows of  truth.  But  the  true  explanation  was  that 
Michael  felt  that  if  he  had  not  seen  Judge  Dal- 
rymple's  ghost,  he  had  heard  some  skeletons  of 


202  Judge  Dalrymple 


his  words.  And  so,  with  suddenly  aroused  memo- 
ries of  a  most  painful  character,  and  feeling  al- 
most sure  that  his  old  employer  was  behind  the 
pulpit,  Michael  had  become  demoralized  and  de- 
parted precipitately,  without  apology  then  and 
thereafter. 

Mrs.  Dalrymple  erected  a  handsome  monument 
over  her  husband ;  and  with  some  mental  concep- 
tion or  design  of  her  own,  she  had  two  faces 
chiselled  on  opposite  sides  of  the  tombstone, 
which  were  to  represent  Hope  and  Faith :  the  for- 
mer smiling  in  an  Easterly  direction,  and  the  lat- 
ter gazing  solemnly  at  the  West,  As  these  two 
heads,  by  some  mistaken  idea  of  the  sculptor, 
were  made  to  resemble  Mr.  Dalrymple,  the  public 
said  the  widow  intended  to  show  the  two  chang- 
ing moods  of  her  consort,  and  so  there  was  con- 
siderable remark,  both  mirthful  and  otherwise. 
Fortunately  she  never  heard  these  things,  and  in 
time  they  died  away.  But  as  another  generation 
began  to  spring  up,  and  new  people  came  into  the 
country  to  settle,  a  second  report  was  started  and 
spread,  that  Mrs.  Dalrymple  had  erected  the  two- 
headed  monument  in  memory  of  two  departed 
husbands,  and  that  this  accounted  for  the  different 
faces,  one  of  which  looked  brightly  toward  the 
East,  and  the  other  sadly  upon  the  West. 


Judge  Dairy  mple  203 

This,  of  course,  brought  out  more  gossip  about 
the  dissimilar  character  of  the  two  dead  hus- 
bands, and  how  much  happier  she  must  have  been 
with  the  one  who  was  beaming  at  the  Orient,  than 
with  the  other  whose  face  was  set  like  a  flint  to- 
ward the  Occident. 

Happily  for  all  this  foundationless  talk,  and  of 
which  Mrs.  Dalrj^mple,  now  getting  old,  heard 
nothing,  a  gi'eat  storm  arose  one  night,  blew  down 
a  tree  upon  the  monument,  and  ground  the  two 
faces  to  fragments.  Mrs.  Dalrymple  intended  re- 
building the  shaft,  and  the  next  time  with  three 
faces  upon  it,  the  third  to  be  that  of  Resignation, 
looking  Southward,  or  Charity,  gazing  towards 
the  North.  Before  she  had  been  able  to  decide  on 
this  important  matter,  and  ere  plans  had  been 
consummated  with  a  stone  cutter,  she  suddenly 
sickened  and  died,  and  the  idea  was  never  car- 
ried out. 

So  the  body  of  John  Dalrymple  lies  to-day  at 
the  foot  of  a  group  of  sighing  pine  trees,  with 
naught  save  the  moldering  foundation  of  the 
broken  monument  to  mark  his  last  resting  place. 
But  the  yellow  needles  of  the  palms  of  the  South 
have  woven  a  rich  brown  pall  for  the  lowly  mound, 
the  pine  burrs  drop  like  great  tears  over  the  slum- 
bering body,  and  the  whip-poor-will,  on  a  broken 


204  Judge  Dalrymple 

neighboring  fence,  or  in  the  shadowy  depths  of  a 
wide-spreading  cedar,  sings  night  after  night  his 
lonesome  song  over  the  ashes  of  as  hospitable, 
benevolent,  gifted  and  charming  a  Southern  gen- 
tleman as  ever  lived  and  died  between  the  Poto- 
mac and  the  Mississippi. 


THE   TWO  CRONIES 


205 


The  Two  Cronies 


I 

DAN  AND  BILLY 


The  Yazoo  Delta  has  quite  a  number  of  lakes 
buried  in  its  sylvan  depths,  some  famous  for 
beauty,  some  for  utility,  others  for  sport  in  the 
way  of  hunting  and  fishing,  and  still  others  for 
all  combined.  Among  the  latter  was  one  which 
we  will  call  Clear  Lake.  It  was  a  body  of  water 
fully  ten  or  fifteen  miles  in  length  and  three  hun- 
dred yards  in  width.  In  some  seasons  of  the  year 
it  was  not  so  broad,  but  was  always  a  beautiful 
sheet  of  water,  lined  with  a  narrow  fringe  of  cy- 
press trees  and  a  broad  belt  of  cultivated  planta- 
tions on  one  side,  and  a  deep,  dark  forest  on  the 
other.  With  imposing  bends  and  beautiful  views 
extending  one  and  two  miles  to  the  next  curve  of 
wooded  shore,  no  one  could  look  upon  this  work 
of  nature  without  a  feeling  of  deep  pleasure. 

It  was  a  rich  contribution  to  the  gallery  of  men- 
tal pictures  to  see  Clear  Lake  at  the  hours  of  sun- 

207 


208  The  Two  Cronies 

set  and  twilight.  At  such  times  both  sky  and 
earth  contended  for  the  heart  of  the  water  beauty, 
and  she,  like  a  coquette,  secured  gifts  from  both, 
taking  a  rosy  flush  from  the  West,  a  ribbon  of 
light  from  the  sky,  and  a  belt  of  purple  shadows 
which  the  forest  upon  the  northern  bank  urged 
upon  her.  Later  still,  the  evening  star  pinned  a 
diamond  on  her  breast. 

The  principal  crafts  on  the  lake  were  skiffs,  a 
box-like  scow  made  for  trot-line  fishing  and  gig- 
ging purposes,  and  the  more  popular  dug-out,  a 
boat  of  eight  or  ten  feet  in  length,  car\^ed  so  to 
speakj  out  of  a  single  log  and  made  so  light  and 
capsizeable  that  a  stranger,  taking  his  first  ride  in 
one,  would  be  advised  not  to  shift  the  chew  of  to- 
bacco in  his  mouth.  They  were  paddled  with  one 
oar,  could  go  very  swiftly  and  made  the  slight- 
est rippling  noise  when  in  full  motion,  and  so 
were  much  used  in  hunting  and  fishing,  besides  be- 
ing utilized  for  visiting  purposes  both  by  blacks 
and  whites.  What  the  gondola  was  to  Venice,  the 
dug-out  was  to  Clear  Lake. 

The  homes  of  the  plantation  owners  were  sepa- 
rated a  mile  or  more  from  each  other,  and  gen- 
erally fronted  the  lake ;  the  ' '  place ' '  itself,  at  the 
time  of  which  we  write,  being  rented,  and  sub- 
rented  to  negroes  and  a  sprinkling  of  white  peo- 
ple. 


The  Two  Cronies  209 

Among  the  notable  characters  who  lived  on 
Clear  Lake  was  Daniel  Bivings.  He  had  come  out 
of  the  Civil  War  with  no  military  honor  and  re- 
nown; with  no  wounds,  trophies  or  treasure ;  and, 
in  fact,  with  but  little  else  than  a  long  gray  coat 
and  slouch  hat.  In  the  general  wreck  which  fol- 
lowed the  ** Surrender,"  it  was  but  natural  that 
he  should  look  about  for  means  of  support  for 
himself  and  mother;  and,  not  being  a  professional 
man,  and  not  having  any  capital  to  start  a  store, 
the  wisest  thing  he  could  do,  and,  in  fact,  the  only 
step  which  was  left  him,  was  to  rent  twenty  acres 
of  cleared  land,  with  a  two-roomed  cabin  facing 
the  swamp,  and  commence  farming  on  a  small 
scale  under  Major  EUerton,  whose  beautiful  plan- 
tation lay  stretched  for  a  mile  upon  the  shore  of 
the  still  more  beautiful  lake. 

Dan  was  a  tall,  thin,  sallow-looking  man  of 
forty.  He  had  a  bald  head,  large,  faded  blue  eyes, 
and  a  narrow,  Roman  nose,  the  last  third  of  it  al- 
ways red;  and  a  long,  straggling  beard  which  had 
a  way  of  parting  and  floating  over  each  shoulder 
when  he  plowed  in  the  field  or  rode  with  any  de- 
gree of  swiftness  on  horse,  or,  more  properly 
speaking,  mule  back. 

He  was  not  considered  handsome  by  his  warm- 
est friends,  while  one  of  his  enemies  said  *  *  that  the 


210  The  Two  Cronies 

devil  himself  would  run  if  he  met  him  in  the 
dark." 

Dan  had  no  special  fondness  for  lahor;  he  was 
theoretically,  practically  and  constitutionally  op- 
posed to  it.  But  the  celebrated  Hobson's  choice 
(not  of  Merrimac  fame)  confronted  him  and  he 
had  to  take  the  plow  handles  or  starve. 

He  had  secured  as  his  plow  animal,  as  well  as 
steed  for  riding,  a  tall  old  mule  upon  whom  he 
confen'ed  the  name  of  January,  but  for  what  rea- 
son does  not  appear  unless  certain  patches  of 
white  hair  here  and  there  reminded  his  owner  of 
that  frosty  snowy  month  of  the  year.  January, 
like  his  master,  was  not  overly  fond  of  work,  and 
showed  a  constant  disposition  to  stop.  He  had  a 
way  of  galloping,  when  vigorously  urged  to  do  so, 
which  showed  considerable  action  of  body,  but  not 
much  progress ;  it  was  a  great  going  up  and  down, 
but  with  precious  little  forward  movement.  He 
had  also  contracted  or  inherited  the  affliction  of 
deafness.  *'He's  not  only  dumb,  sir,"  said  Dan, 
"but  deef."  It  was  not  a  moderate  case  of  hard- 
ness of  hearing,  that  scarcely  did  the  subject  jus- 
tice, for  it  required  something  approximating 
thunder  to  produce  a  sensation  on  the  tympanum 
of  the  animal's  ear.  We  said  it  was  an  affliction, 
but  this  was  questionable,  for  this  very  deafness 


The  Two  Cronies  211 

saved  January  from  hearing  the  many  bitter  and 
sometimes  unmentionable  things  which  Dan  said 
about  him,  mainly  in  his  presence,  and  so  became 
a  kind  of  protection  to  the  finer  sensibilities  of  his 
mule  nature. 

It  was  both  a  sight  and  sound  never  to  be  for- 
gotten when  Dan  hitched  up  Januar\'  and  started 
in  the  springtime  to  break  up  the  ground  for  plant- 
ing. Everj^body  knew  in  a  mile's  distance  the 
morning  the  work  commenced,  as  he  made  more 
noise  than  all  the  other  plowers  in  that  part  of  the 
plantation. 

''Whoa,  January!  Gee,  mule!  Haw  there  Jan- 
uary! Don't  you  hear  me  telling  you  to  haw? 
Haw  mule !  Whoa-haw-mule !  Bum  your  ole  hide 
—is  you  plum  deef?  Haw  there,  mule!  Did  any- 
body ever  see  such  a— whoa,  there,  January! 
"Whoa— haw— gee ! ' ' 

And  so  it  went  on,  all  the  moniing  and  evening, 
the  woods  taking  up  the  echoes,  passers-by  smil- 
ing, while  distant  negro  plowers  would  say  with 
a  loud  guffaw  to  each  other  across  the  fuiTows: 
"Marse  Dan  an'  Jinewaiy  is  in  fur  it  ter-da5^" 
And  so  they  were,  the  mule  partly  on  account  of 
his  nature,  but  mainly  through  his  deafness,  hav- 
ing most  of  it  his  own  way.  As  Dan  grew  excited 
in  these  plowing  experiences  his  eyes  would  bulge, 


212  The  Two  Cronies 

his  nose  become  inflamed,  his  beard  part  as  Janu- 
ary serenely  and  unconsciously  dragged  him 
around,  while  his  voice  would  take  on  a  tremolo 
attachment  as  he  vociferated,  "Gee-e-e-  Janu- 
ary—" with  a  rising  inflection  on  the  name  that 
was  always  lost  upon  the  animal,  but  invariably 
convulsed  human  listeners.  Then,  as  the  mule 
in  his  deafness  kept  going  on  when  he  should 
have  stopped,  and  stopped  when  he  should  have 
gone  on,  Dan  would  fairly  suipass  himself  in  ad- 
jectives, expletives  and  expressions  which  we 
could  never  get  our  consent  to  have  appear  on 
these  pages. 

Dan  had  several  faults.  One  already  antici- 
pated was  occasional  profanity.  He  said  in  exten- 
uation that  January  was  the  sole  cause  of  it,  that 
he  would  long  ago  have  been  a  consistent  member 
of  the  Church  but  for  that  mule.  He  gravely  af- 
firmed that  January  would  have  to  be  responsible 
for  the  loss  of  his  soul. 

His  second  fault  was  tobacco  chewing.  So  great 
was  his  fondness  for  the  weed  that  he  seemed 
rather  to  eat  it  than  to  ruminate  with  that  slow 
motion  of  the  jaws  which  other  practiced.  Then 
he  used  every  brand,  not  caring  who  made  it  or 
where  it  came  from,  so  it  was  tobacco.  The  juice 
from  these  different  grades  and  qualities  trickling 


The  Two  Cronies  213 

upon  and  staining  his  beard  witli  lines  of  brown, 
orange  and  other  rich  oriental  colors,  had  given 
him  something  like  a  rainbow  as  a  chin  appen- 
dage. The  quids  which  he  masticated  and  ex- 
hausted were  so  large  that  there  was  a  legend  on 
the  Lake  that  a  hunter  mistook  one  for  a  black- 
bird and  fired  upon  it.  In  expectorating  Dan 
made  no  less  than  three  distinct  sounds,  the  labial 
detonation  of  course,  being  regulated  by  the 
amount  of  ambia  on  hand  or,  rather,  in  the  mouth. 
A  third  moral  blemish  in  Dan's  life  was  an  oc- 
casional spree.  Those  who  knew  him  best  said 
that  he  always  had  a  little  liquor  in  him,  and  that 
the  color  of  his  nose  correctly  gauged  the  amount 
inside.  It  was  supposed  that  daily  potations  kept 
the  pink  blossom  on  the  end  of  his  nostrils  all  the 
year  round.  As  he  went  deeper  into  his  cups  the 
scarlet  steadily  ascended,  and  when  Dan  had  all 
he  could  hold  the  entire  organ  became  aflame,  his 
eyes  would  assume  a  set  expression,  or  a  "sot- 
look,"  as  the  negroes  called  it,  and  it  became  al- 
most impossible  for  the  obsen-er  to  look  at  the 
man  and  preserve  his  gravity.  The  attempt  to 
appear  wise  and  solemn  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  and 
pulled  his  beard,  resulting  only  in  an  exceedingly 
empty  and  silly  looking  face  and  demeanor,  made 
a  picture  not  soon  to  be  forgotten. 


214  The  Two  Cronies 

But  Dan  had  also  a  virtue.  He  was  a  man  of 
few  words.  Whether  it  was  that  he  had  nothing 
to  say,  or  did  not  care  to  say  anything,  for  there 
was  a  difference  of  opinion  here;  yet  it  was  gen- 
erally admitted  that  he  was  a  man  of  remarkable 
reticence,  having  only  on  several  occasions  been 
betrayed  into  a  paragraphic  utterance.  In  fact, 
a  neighbor  once  said  of  him  that  ''Dan  Bivings 
had  said  less  and  spit  more  in  Yazoo  County  than 
any  man  who  ever  lived  there." 

The  following  quite  common  colloquy  may 
serve  to  give  an  idea  of  Dan's  ornate  style  of 
speech : 

'Good  morning,  Dan." 

'  Mornin '. ' ' 

'How  is  everything  on  the  Lake?" 

'Middlin'," 

'  Is  your  mother  well  ? ' ' 

'Yep." 

'Crop  all  right?" 

'Shore." 

'Going  to  Yazoo  City  to-day?" 

'Yah." 

'Will  you  be  back  to-night?" 

'Uh-hunh." 

'Fine  day  to-day." 

'You  bet." 
When  Dan  had  a  few  drinks  aboard,  was  seated 


The  Two  Cronies  215 

on  a  box,  or  in  a  barrel  eliair  before  the  stove  of 
a  country  store,  lie  was  the  picture  of  drunken 
gravity.  Being  asked  some  simple  question,  he 
would  pull  his  beard  reflectively  for  a  minute,  ex- 
pectorate, say  *'Yep,"  and  then  roll  his  eyes 
around  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  delivered 
himself.  If  he  went  deeper  in  his  cups  he  gave  up 
even  his  monosyllables,  set  his  eyes,  combed  his 
beard  with  his  fingers,  and  looked  like  a  Judge, 
Coroner  and  Undertaker,  all  three  in  one. 

Dan  had  periodic  movements,  one  of  a  weekly 
and  the  other  of  a  monthly  character.  Every  Sat- 
urday he  visited  a  country  store  five  miles  from 
Clear  Lake  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  where  he 
lounged  away  the  day  with  other  equally  industri- 
ous characters,  made  his  three  tobacco  sounds, 
said  yep,  yah,  shore  and  uh-hunh,  and  returned 
late  in  the  evening  through  the  swamp  to  his  log 
cabin,  with  the  red  banner  unfurled  at  varying 
length  along  the  nostril,  his  mother  having  only 
to  glance  at  this  member  of  her  son's  countenance 
to  know  whether  she  should  get  supper  for  him 
or  put  him  to  bed. 

Then  once  a  month  he  went  to  Yazoo  City.  For 
what  pui-pose  was  not  clear,  as  he  traded  on  credit 
at  the  country  store  mentioned.  But  still  he  would 
go,  and  his  presence  would  illuminate  again  the 


216  The  Tivo  Cronies 

streets  of  the  county  seat.  He  would  not  tarry 
long,  as  he  came  twenty  miles,  and  had  to  return 
the  same  distance.  So,  with  all  his  loafing  around, 
blending  his  tobacco  juice  with  that  of  the  weed 
chewing  fraternity,  and  contributing  his  ''yeps" 
and  *  *  shores ' '  to  the  general  current  of  street  talk, 
he  would  every  now  and  then  take  a  glance  at  the 
sun,  and  at  four  in  the  afternoon  rejoin  January, 
who  had  been  fastened  back  of  a  store  in  a  dusty 
lot  that  was  plentifully  garnished  with  dog  fen- 
nel and  jimson  weed. 

As  January  generally  dozed  away  the  hours 
when  tied  in  this  interesting  locality,  and  was 
deaf,  as  has  been  narrated,  whenever  Dan  touched 
the  reins,  there  would  be  a  sudden  wakening,  vio- 
lent snorting  and  backing  of  the  mule,  while  Dan, 
dragged  most  unceremoniously  through  the  weeds, 
would,  with  the  old  tremolo  movement  of  the 
voice,  cry  out: 

*'Did  you  ever  see  sech  an  old  fool!  Who-o-a 
there  January ! ' ' 

After  this  they  would  loom  forth  on  Mound 
Street,  next  up  Jefferson,  then  into  and  along 
Main,  heading  north ;  Januaiy  with  his  three  mo- 
tions, upward,  downward  and  somewhat  home- 
ward, and  Dan  with  flapping  elbows,  parted 
beard,  and  set  eyes,  both  rider  and  steed  now  evi- 


The  Two  Cronies  217 

dentl}^  agreed  upon  one  thing,  and  that  being  to 
reach  home  as  soon  after  nightfall  as  possible. 

Billy  Buffington,  the  bosom  friend  and  frequent 
companion  of  Dan  Bivings,  was  beardless,  round- 
faced  and  sandy-haired.  He  had  a  way  when 
deeply  interested  in  his  own  speech  of  stepping 
back  after  one  of  his  remarks,  and  with  his  hands 
on  his  hips,  sun^eying  the  person  he  had  just  ad- 
dressed, as  if  to  see  whether  he  could  possibly  bear 
up  after  such  a  deliverance.  At  the  same  time 
his  nostrils  would  expand,  and  his  eyes  had  a  cu- 
rious way  of  enlarging,  so  that  the  whites  could 
be  seen  like  a  ring  around  the  pupils.  He  had  also 
a  habit,  not  to  say  accomplishment,  of  gathering 
his  lips  in  a  kind  of  pucker,  and  then  suddenly 
expelling  the  air  with  a  "flit"  or  bullet-like  sound, 
which  made  one  think  of  a  minnie-ball  shot  from 
a  gun.  As  he  at  the  same  time  dropped  his  head 
on  one  side  and  slightly  closed  one  of  his  eyes,  it 
greatly  strengthened  the  appearance. 

Billy  had  no  drinking  habits,  but  smoked  a  cob 
pipe,  and  indulged  in  the  use  of  the  single  by- 
word, "I  Ganny,"  by  which  he  relieved  himself 
in  times  of  high  mental  pressure.  What  it  meant 
we  confess  to  the  profoundest  ignorance.  He  also 
used,  as  a  kind  of  climax,  certain  facts  in  connec- 
tion with  the  military  history  of  Eobert  E.  Lee 


218  The  Two  Cronies 


and  Stonewall  Jackson,  which  he  seemed  to  regard 
as  argument  clinchers  to  any  statement  or  speech 
he  had  just  made.  From  these  latter  expressions 
it  was  easy  to  see  where  his  sympathies  were  in 
the  Civil  War.  As  he  himself  would  say,  to  visit- 
ing friends,  *'Do  you  see  those  two  hounds  there 
on  the  floor!  Well,  sir,  that's  Lee  and  Jackson. 
That  tells  the  story,  sir.  That  shows  you  who  I 
am,  and  where  I  am,  or  Stonewall  Jackson  was  no 
fighter." 

Saying  this,  he  would  back  off,  look  at  one  with 
the  white  rings  around  his  eyes  as  if  he  expected 
the  person  to  fall  over;  would  next  shoot  a  minnie- 
ball  in  the  air,  and  then  return  to  the  quiet  walks 
of  peaceful  life  once  more. 

Billy,  like  Dan,  was  a  bachelor  of  forty  years 
of  age,  or  thereabouts.  Like  many  others,  he  found 
himself,  at  the  end  of  the  Civil  War,  stripped  of 
all  he  once  possessed,  and  had  to  come  down,  with 
great  reluctance,  to  hard  work.  He  rented  a  small 
piece  of  land  fronting  on  Clear  Lake,  and  situ- 
ated about  two  miles  from  his  friend  Bivings. 

His  preparation  for  his  first  day's  plowing, 
a  labor  to  which  he  was  a  perfect  stranger,  ex- 
cited the  wonder  of  every  passer-b}^  He  carried 
out  to  the  field  with  him  an  umbrella,  a  wash  bowl 
pitcher   and   towel,    and   a   large   palmetto   fan. 


The  Two  Cronies  219 

Plowing  to  the  end  of  the  row,  and  then  back,  he 
wonld  leave  his  horse,  bathe  his  crimson  face,  then 
get  under  his  umbrella,  and  there  sit  for  ten  min- 
utes vigorously  fanning  himself.  The  furrows  he 
made  tliat  day  were  not  numerous  on  account  of 
the  frequent  washings  and  fannings  and  prolonged 
rests,  and  they  were  also  quite  remarkable  for 
their  crookedness.  Some  one,  passing  by,  cried 
out:  ** Hello,  Billy,  what  is  the  matter  with  your 
furrows?"  His  ringing  reply,  from  under  the 
umbrella,  was: 

' '  The  sun  warped  'em,  or  Bob  Lee  was  no  Gen- 
eral." 

Two  other  things  greatly  militated  against  his 
being  a  successful  agriculturist.  One  was  his 
fondness  for  fishing  and  hunting,  which  would  be- 
guile him  in  the  woods  or  to  the  Lake  shore  or 
Yazoo  River;  and  the  other  was  his  friendship  for 
Daniel  Bivings.  In  fact,  this  intimacy  greatly 
injured  the  crops  of  both  of  these  gentlemen. 
They  paid  each  other  two  or  three  visits  a  week. 
Billy  would  come  up  on  his  gray  mare  to  see  how 
Dan  and  his  crop  was  getting  on,  and  they  would 
become  so  interested  in  talking  about  the  best  way 
of  planting,  the  finest  seed,  the  longest  staple,  the 
highest  price,  and  so  forth,  that  several  hours 
would  pass  by  unnoticed,  all  to  the  hurt  of  the 


220  The  Two  Cronies 

growing  com  and  cotton,  albeit  to  the  great  enjoy- 
ment of  the  Gray  and  January. 

After  this,  Dan  would  go  down  to  see  Billy,  and, 
either  sitting  on  January  or  perched  on  the  staked 
and  ridered  fence,  the  unfinished  conversation 
about  the  crops  would  be  resumed,  or  reminis- 
cences of  the  war  related  for  the  one  hundredth 
time.  Billy,  at  first,  would  plow  a  furrow  or  so, 
saying  he  was  badly  in  the  grass,  but  the  talk 
would  become  so  interesting  that  it  would  result 
in  his  mounting  the  top  rail  of  the  panel  near  Dan 
and  then  for  the  next  two  or  three  hours  great 
agricultural  and  military  problems  would  be 
solved,  while  January  dozed  on  one  side  of  the 
fence,  the  Gray  on  the  other,  and  the  crap  grass 
and  the  morning  glories,  with  their  white,  pink 
and  purple  blossoms,  wound  a  death  embrace 
around  the  stalks  of  the  rustling  com.  The  sun- 
shine gleamed  on  field  and  forest,  the  waves  of  the 
Lake  rippled  in  the  crisp  morning  breeze,  the  field 
lark  dipped  his  undulating  flight  across  the 
meadow,  and  the  bright-hued  woodpecker  sent 
forth  his  shrill  vocal  performance  and  applauded 
himself  vigorously  on  a  dead  limb.  It  was  the 
ver>'  moming  that  men  with  the  constitutional  pe- 
culiarities of  Bivings  and  Buffington  would  enjoy 
sitting  on  a  fence  chewing  toothpicks  fumished  by 
the  splinters  of  the  top  rail,  and  telling  how  the 
world  might,  could,  would  and  should  be  mn. 


The  Two  Cronies  221 

Dan  and  Billy  were  of  good  stock,  as  they  were 
fond  of  saying.  While  Mississippians  born  and 
raised,  yet  they  allowed  few  opportunities  to  es- 
cape of  referring  to  the  Buflfingtons  of  Virginia, 
and  the  Bivings  of  South  Carolina.  But  what 
with  the  demoralizing  influence  of  the  war,  fre- 
quent contact  with  a  lower  race  in  the  struggle  for 
bread,  they  had  become  careless  in  dress  as  well 
as  in  speech.  They  discarded  neckties  about  the 
time  they  dropped  the  "g"  in  all  words  ending 
in  "ing";  and  ceased  blacking  their  shoes  close 
to  the  date  when  they  turned  the  letter  "e"  into 
'4"  in  the  word  get.  They  had  also  taken  liber- 
ties with  the  English  language  in  other  particu- 
lars, which  the  Buffingtons  of  Virginia  and  the 
Bivings  of  South  Carolina  would  never  have 
tolerated.  In  fact,  Dan  and  Billy  both  said  so; 
therefore,  it  must  have  been  so. 


THE  CAUSE  OF  DIVISION 

In  the  midst  of  the  warm  friendship  existing 
between  Dan  and  Billv  there  arrived  a    familv  to 


222  The  Two  Cronies 

live  on  Clear  Lake,  by  the  name  of  Eobinson.  This 
household,  which  was  to  exercise  a  great  influence 
in  the  lives  of  the  Cronies,  had  come  down  from 
the  hills  whose  red  clay  fields  had  yielded  them 
such  a  bare  living  that  they  had  concluded  to  try 
the  rich  black  soil  of  the  swamp.  They  were  in 
humble  circumstances,  one  wagon  containing  all 
their  possessions.  They  moved  into  a  three- 
roomed  cabin  on  Major  Ellerton's  place,  midway 
between  Bivings  and  Buffington.  The  home  cir- 
cle consisted  of  the  father,  who  was  a  widower, 
two  gawky  sons,  of  fifteen  and  sixteen,  and  a  very 
good  looking  girl  of  eighteen,  called  Amanda, 
which  name  the  family  had  abbreviated  to  Mandy. 

The  daughter  of  the  Robinsons  was  a  tall,  slen- 
der maiden  with  large,  dark  eyes,  and  beautiful 
complexion.  She  had  the  habit  often  seen  in  cer- 
tain walks  of  life  of  wearing  a  sun  bonnet  in  the 
house.  She  had  also  the  drawling,  sing-song  way 
of  talking,  peculiar  to  a  social  plane  in  the  hill 
country.  While  at  first  one  would  be  disposed  to 
smile  at  and  object  to  this  conversational  chant- 
ing which  so  encroached  on  the  nasal,  yet,  modi- 
fied as  it  was  in  Mandy 's  case,  and  made  melo- 
dious by  her  really  sweet  voice,  the  sound  at  last 
became  pleasant  to  the  ear. 

So  it  did  to  Daniel  Bivings  and  William  Buf- 
fington, who,  in  passing  and  repassing  the  house, 


The  Two  Cronies  223 

would  suddenly  become  thirsty,  and  made  it  con- 
venient to  stop  for  sundry  gourds  of  water;  and 
at  last,  from  a  mere  acquaintanceship,  reached  the 
point  where,  in  going  by,  they  would  be  cordially 
hailed  by  Joe  Robinson,  the  father,  as  he  sat  in 
his  shirt  sleeves  on  the  porch,  and  told  to  'Might 
and  look  at  your  saddle". 

This  was  considered  a  highly  proper  and  cordial 
invitation  by  both  sides,  and  from  alighting  and 
looking  at  their  saddles,  Dan  and  Billy  had  at 
different  times,  but  hardly  ever  together,  got  first 
to  the  gallery,  then  into  the  plain  front  apartment 
used  as  a  sitting  and  bed  room  combined,  and 
finally  to  an  occasional  meal  with  the  family. 
Here  Mr.  Robinson  and  his  boys  ate  in  their  shirt 
sleeves,  while  Mandy,  with  the  sides  of  her  sun 
bonnet  flapping  about  her  fire  crimsoned  face, 
waited  on  the  table,  and  with  her  sing-song  voice 
and  pretty  rows  of  teeth,  completed  the  damage 
already  begun  in  the  hearts  of  her  visitors. 

Both  Dan  and  Billy  were  inwardly  convinced 
that  the  Bivings  of  South  Carolina,  and  the  Buf- 
fingtons  of  Virginia,  would  have  been  horrified  at 
the  shirt-sleeved  spectacle  at  the  table,  and  highly 
amused  and  scoraful  over  the  drawl  which  all  the 
family  possessed;  but  Mandy 's  eyes,  cheeks  and 
trim  figure  were  too  much  for  the  social  exiles, 


224  The  Two  Cronies 


and  so  family  scruples  and  opinions  first  tottered 
and  then  fell  with  a  crash  before  this  spectacle 
of  country  charms  clothed  in  red  calico. 

It  was  difficult  to  tell  when  Mandy  was  most 
fascinating.  Sometimes  she  looked  best  at  the 
chum,  stopping  the  dasher  occasionally  to  bend 
forward  and  hear  what  her  admirers  were  saying. 
But  this  attractive  vision  had  to  go  down  before 
the  flitting  spectacle  at  the  spinning  wheel,  as, 
with  the  delicate  thread  in  her  hand,  the  girl 
walked  backward  and  forward,  a  picture  of  un- 
conscious ease  and  grace.  Then  this  in  turn  sank 
into  inferiority  before  the  supple,  bending  form 
and  crimson  cheeks  brought  to  their  rose  color  by 
hovering  over  the  skillets  and  frying  pans  in  the 
preparation  of  dinner. 

After  one  of  these  scenes  both  Dan  and  Billy 
dreamed  of  palatial  homes  on  the  Yazoo  River, 
with  steamers  passing  in  front,  statuary  on  the 
lawn,  and  a  sumptuous  sitting  and  dining  room 
combined,  with  a  table  bountifully  supplied,  and 
at  the  head  a  smiling  vision  of  loveliness  in  five- 
cent  red  calico  saying  in  a  sing-song  voice: 
"Husban',  hev  somethin'  mo*  on  yo'  plate?" 

When  Billy  dreamed  this  dream,  he  was  sure 
that  Mandy  was  talking  to  him  in  her  drawling 


The  Tivo  Cronies  225 

voice,  but  awoke  to  find  it  was  the  droning  sound 
of  a  spinning  wheel  in  a  neighboring  negro  cabin. 
The  awakening  was  quite  bitter. 

This  attachment  was  the  first  division  between 
the  two  friends.  Both  were  in  love  with  Mandy, 
and  both  wanted  to  conceal  it  from  the  other. 
About  these  two  facts  there  remained  not  a 
shadow  of  doubt.  As  to  other  facts,  whether  she 
loved  them,  and  which  one  she  liked  best,  there 
was  grave  uncertainty.  To  outsiders  the  girl 
seemed  to  feel  and  act  the  same  toward  the  Cro- 
nies. It  was  noticeable  that  she  began  smiling 
the  instant  she  saw  either  one,  and  during  their 
visits  would  burst  into  fits  of  laughter,  and  that, 
too,  when  nothing  was  being  said. 

At  first  this  merriment  disturbed  her  two  visit- 
ors somewhat,  but  they  finally  grew  accustomed 
to  it  as  they  had  to  her  chanting  style  of  talking, 
and  now  rather  liked  the  outbursts. 

Buflfington,  however,  was  certain  that  he  recog- 
nized signs  of  a  decided  preference  for  himself, 
and  felt  that  much  of  Mandy 's  laughter  sprang 
from  a  heart  overflowing  with  lia]ipiness  over  the 
presence  of  love  in  her  heart  and  the  object  of  her 
devotion  before  her  eyes.  Then  one  day  she  told 
him  something  about  Dan  which  convinced  him 


226  TJie  Two  Cronies 

that  he  (Billy)  was  the  favored  man.  On  the 
other  hand  she  confided  something  to  Dan  rela- 
tive to  Billy,  which  caused  the  Master  of  January 
to  chuckle  a  good  deal,  not  only  then,  but  all  that 
afternoon. 

Such  was  the  situation  of  affairs  for  some 
weeks,  greatly  to  the  benefit  of  the  crops  of  both 
men,  for  they  being  somewhat  suspicious  and 
jealous  of  one  another,  the  old  time  mutual  visits 
were  discontinued;  and  as  love  is  said  to  drive 
one's  chariot  wheels,  and  they  had  no  chariots, 
but  plows,  they  actually  did  more  and  better 
plowing  than  they  had  since  the  first  year  of  their 
renting,  at  which  time  they  strove  for  a  reputation 
for  indiistry. 

As  Dan  ''broke  out  the  middles"  in  the  field, 
and  saw  the  soft  black  earth  turned  into  long 
beautiful  ridges,  it  was  a  prophecy  in  figure  to 
him  of  Mandy  yielding  to  his  steady  advances; 
and  in  the  swelling  furrow,  he  could  see  the  bosom 
of  the  girl  heaving  under  the  attentions  and  love 
he  was  softly  and  persistently  throwing  upon  her. 

Billy  Buffington,  in  his  rambles  through  the 
woods,  or  by  the  river  or  lake  side  with  gun  or 
fishing  pole,  had  Mandy  in  his  mind  when  he 
brought  down  a  duck  on  the  wing,  or  landed  a 
glittering  perch  on  the  shore. 


The  Two  Cronies  227 

''I'll  bag  her  yet,"  or  ''I'll  string  her  sure," 
was  his  chuckling  comment  at  the  end  of  many  a 
successful  shot  or  haul.  Sometimes  it  was  "I 
Ganny,  I've  got  her,  or  Bob  Lee  was  no  General." 

The  attentions  of  the  two  Cronies  to  the  damsel 
from  the  hills  were  not  confined  to  sighs,  glances 
and  soft  words,  but  there  were  actions  of  such  a 
public  nature  as  set  many  doubts  at  rest  and  at 
the  same  time  many  tongues  agoing  on  Clear 
Lake.  These  ministries  plainly  indicated  both  the 
love  and  rivaliw.  Billy  took  Mandy  to  a  barbecue 
on  the  Yazoo  River,  whereupon  Dan  escorted  her 
to  a  fish  fiy  on  Honey  Island.  Billy  treated  her 
to  a  horse  back  ride  to  the  hills,  and  Dan  imme- 
diately retorted  with  a  skiff  row  on  Clear  Lake  by 
moonlight. 

Neither  did  these  labors  of  love  end  here,  but 
developed  in  a  still  more  material  and  profitable 
character.  Billy  sent  in  a  string  of  fish;  Dan 
brought  a  sack  of  sweet  potatoes.  Billy  presented 
three  wild  ducks;  Dan  carried  over  a  half  dozen 
kershaws.  Billy  gave  some  squirrels;  Dan  fol- 
lowed suit  with  a  bag  of  dried  peaches. 

So  the  tokens  of  remembrance  and  regard 
rained  on  j\Iandy  to  the  improvement  of  her  home 
larder,  and  the  perfect  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Robin- 
son, the  father,  who,  as  he  ate  these  swamp  delica- 
cies, remarked  at  the  table: 


228  The  Two  Cronies 


*'I  dunno,  but  I'd  like  to  have  about  three  sons- 
in-law,  Mandy,  if  they'd  all  do  like  Bivings  and 
Buffington." 

''I  expec',"  replied  Mandy,  "they'd  git  no 
'count  after  they  got  married. ' ' 

Mr.  Robinson  winced  under  this  speech  as  he 
was  notoriously  fond  of  sitting  a  long  time  in  one 
place  and  allowing  other  people  to  do  what  prop- 
erly belonged  to  him.  Indeed  it  had  been  whis- 
pered around  in  the  hills  that  Mrs.  Robinson  had 
sunk  into  the  grave  ahead  of  time,  owing  to  Mr. 
Robinson  having  permitted  her  to  perform  her 
full  quota  of  farm  work  and  half  of  his  own  in 
addition.  He  was  a  forgetful  kind  of  man  about 
some  things. 

But  to  return  to  the  Cronies'  love  affair;  the 
climax  was  reached  in  Dan's  case  one  day  when 
Mandy  taught  him  how  to  card  cotton,  and  turn 
the  bats  into  fleecy  white  rolls  ready  for  the  spin- 
ning wheel.  Dan  was  all  in  a  tremble  when  the 
girl  bent  over  him  with  her  warm  breath  on  his 
cheek  and  showed  him  the  mysterj^  He  was  slow 
to  leara,  as  the  teaching  kept  Mandy  close  by,  but 
by  and  by,  he  mastered  the  art,  although  he  felt 
quite  foolish  when  Billy  rode  up  and  saw  him 
sitting  in  the  room  busily  at  work  with  a  pile  of 
the  transformed  material  in  a  chair  before  him. 


The  Two  Cronies  229 


Billy  looked  a  little  sulky  at  first  over  this  home 
scene,  but  being  naturally  of  a  sunny  disposition, 
he  soon  shot  off  his  bosom  gloom  through  his  lips, 
in  the  shape  of  a  few  aerial  bullets,  and  had  the 
very  next  day  the  pleasure  of  holding  a  hank  of 
yam  in  his  hands  while  Mandy  rolled  the  thread 
on  a  ball,  as  it  slipped  from  his  agitated  fingers. 

Billy  felt  he  could  stay  in  such  a  position  for- 
ever; for  the  task  brought  them  very  near  to- 
gether, and  the  thread  would  get  into  occasional 
tangles,  causing  Mandy 's  hand  to  come  in  contact 
with  his  as  she  strove  with  the  knot,  and  sending 
magnetic  thrills  through  him  at  eveiy  touch.  He 
was  not  much  of  a  praying  man,  but  he  most  fer- 
vently hoped,  if  he  did  not  supplicate,  that  there 
would  be  no  end  to  the  knots  and  no  termination 
whatever  to  the  thread  of  that  hank  which  Mandy 
had  hung  on  his  outstretched  palms  and  uplifted 
thumbs.    Meanwhile  his  enchantress  told  him : 

*'He  was  the  orkidest  man  she  ever  seen." 

All  of  which  delighted  him,  for  a  man  in  love 
enjoys  being  scolded  in  that  kind  of  way  by  the 
object  of  his  affection.  She  certainly  played 
havoc  with  Billy  that  morning,  for  as  she  coiled 
the  thread  on  the  ball,  she  wound  the  love-sick 
Mississippian  more  than  ever  around  herself. 

*'I  Ganny,"  said  the  victim  afterwards  to  him- 


230  The  Two  Cronies 

self,  "she  wrapped  me  'round  her  finger  that  day 
good  fashion,  or  Stonewall  Jackson  was  no 
fighter. ' ' 

During  the  days  that  Dan  helped  Mandy,  or 
thought  he  helped  her,  in  the  carding  of  cotton, 
January  gained  ten  pounds,  and  the  grass  in  the 
Bivings'  field  grew  almost  as  many  inches. 

As  for  Billy,  after  the  hank  and  ball  winding 
experience,  he  felt  so  soft-hearted  and  kind  to 
everything  that  for  days  he  had  no  desire  to  jerk 
a  fish  out  of  the  water,  or  bring  a  bird  or  squirrel 
down  from  a  tree  with  one  of  his  unerring  shots. 

There  was  one  thing,  however,  which  puzzled 
both  Dan  and  Billy,  about  Mandy,  and  that  was, 
that  more  than  once,  and  right  in  the  midst  of 
their  most  devoted  attentions  to  her,  she  had 
asked  them,  as  if  coming  out  of  a  brown  study: 

"Do  you  know  the  Poorvall  folks?'* 

She  would  say  nothing  more  after  the  question, 
but  look  like  she  had  something  else  to  state,  but 
either  could  not,  or  would  not. 

One  morning,  the  very  day  of  the  hank  and 
yarn  ball  incident,  Mandy  chanted  out: 

"Do  you  know  the  Poon^all  folks,  as  lives  on 
Big  Black?" 

"No,"  replied  Billy.  "Did  you  ever  meet  the 
Buffingtons  of  Virginia?" 


The  Two  Cronies  231 

As  Mandy  had  been  bom  and  raised  on  Techeva 
Creek,  and  had  never  been  over  four  miles  from 
Yazoo  County,  there  was  a  most  refreshing  need- 
lessness  in  the  query.  Of  course  Mandy  replied 
in  the  negative.  Billy,  in  speaking  about  it  after- 
wards to  Dan,  said: 

"As  sure  as  Stonewall  Jackson  was  a  fighter,  I 
floored  her,  sir,  with  that  question.  This  is  the 
third  time  she  has  asked  me  about  those  Poorvall 
folks,  as  she  calls  them.  But  I  saw  her  wince,  and 
give  in,  when  I  mentioned  the  Buffingtons." 

*■ '  The  Pur\^alls, ' '  remarked  Dan, ' '  must  be  some 
punkins,  for  she  has  asked  me  a  time  or  two  if  I 
knew  'em." 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  Billy,  shooting  several  min- 
nie  balls,  "they  may  be  some  pumpkins  but  the 
Buffingtons  is  the  horse  that  can  swallow  them 
and  put  them  out  of  sight." 

"Yep,"  answered  Dan,  with  a  pitchoo,  "but 
punkins  is  too  much  for  a  horse  sometimes." 

It  was  only  a  few  days  after,  that  Dan  was  mak- 
ing a  short  morning  call  on  the  Robinson  family 
in  general,  and  Mandy  in  particular.  The  girl 
was  sitting  in  a  low  chair,  on  the  ])uncheon  floor 
galleiy,  knitting.  A  string  of  red  pepper  hung 
just  over  her  head  on  the  wall,  together  with  two 
fishing  poles  and  a  yellow  gourd  near  the  water 


232  The  Two  Croriies 

pail  on  the  shelf.  A  cat  purred  at  her  feet.  In 
the  sunshine  a  handsome  red  and  gold-tinted  roos- 
ter was  escorting  a  dozen  comely  hens  around  in 
the  front  yard,  and  taking  full  time  to  show  off 
his  gorgeous  dress,  while  a  loud  cackling  in  the 
back  yard  announced  a  new  laid  egg. 

The  domestic  scene  quite  warmed  Dan's  heart; 
he  felt  that  if  Robinson  and  his  two  gawky  boys, 
then  sitting  in  the  front  room,  could  be  wiped  out 
of  existence,  he  would  like  to  step  in  that  very 
morning,  and  then  and  there  become  the  master 
and  o^Tier  of  everything  in  sight,  especially  of 
Mandy. 

He  had  come  down  to  tell  her  that  Billy  and 
himself  were  going  away  the  next  day  to  the  head 
of  Honey  Island  on  a  hunting  and  fishing  excur- 
sion. He  intended  to  watch  her  closely  when  he 
gave  this  information  and  see  how  the  tidings 
would  atfect  her.  By  her  agitation  or  manifest 
pain  he  would  get  more  light  on  the  matter  as  to 
how  much  she  returned  the  love  which  was  glow- 
ing in  his  heart  for  her;  so  with  a  considerable 
quaver  of  anxiety  in  his  voice,  he  said : 

''Miss  Mandy,  after  to-day  you  won't  see  me 
and  Billy  again  for  quite  a  while." 

''Do  say,"  sing-songed  Mandy.  "Whur  you 
goin'?" 


The  Two  Cronies  233 

''Way  up  the  river  on  a  camp  hunt.  Gone  a 
whole  week." 

''Well,  you  mus'  take  keer  o'  yourself." 

"Shore,"  replied  Dan,  and  looked  in  vain  for 
the  sign  of  the  iron  entering  her  soul  at  the 
thought  of  separation.  Perhaps  it  pierced  too 
deep  for  human  eyes,  thought  Dan.  So  he  went 
through  his  three  tobacco  sounds,  and  steadily 
looking  at  her,  waited  for  developments.  Sud- 
denly she  seemed  to  be  interested,  put  her  head 
into  a  kind  of  reflecting  position  and  said: 

"Jim,  ain't  that  old  Speck  er  cacklin'  out  there 
in  the  gardin?" 

"No,"  promptly  replied  Jim,  the  younger 
brother.    ' '  Hits  Ole  Rumplus. ' ' 

"Sold  again,"  thought  Dan,  with  a  pitchoo. 
"But  wimmin  are  cunnin'.  They  often  feel  more 
than  they  will  admit  and  show.  If  Robinson  and 
his  two  long  legged  boys  would  only  go  to  the 
field  where  they  belong,  a  fellow  could  say  some- 
thin',  and  bring  the  boil  to  a  head." 

So  thus  Dan  inwardly  fumed,  but  to  no  avail,  as 
Robinson  and  his  two  boys  had  a  resting  fit  on 
them  that  morning,  and  entertained  no  idea  of 
departing  to  oblige  their  visitor  or  anybody  else. 

But  for  their  presence,  Dan  saw  how  he  could 
bring  the  whole  matter  of  doubt  into  the  realm 


234  The  Two  Cronies 

of  certainty.  He  would  ask  Mandy,  for  instance, 
whether  she  would  like  him  to  bring  her  some 
bear  meat ;  and  if  she  said  yes,  then  he  would  ad- 
vance a  step  and  offer  her  a  ham  of  deer.  If  she 
still  answered  affirmatively,  he  would  then  softly 
beg  for  the  privilege  of  bringing  and  giving  him- 
self to  her.  He  was  much  struck  with  the  plan. 
It  was  such  a  delicate,  gradual  approach,  through 
the  bear,  then  the  deer,  to  himself.  The  deer  pro- 
nounced gently  and  tenderly  would  prepare  the 
way  for  the  concluding  offer. 

But  then  there  was  Robinson  and  his  two  boys 
in  the  front  room  and  in  full  ear  shot,  so  what 
could  he  say?  Did  Robinson  never  have  a  court- 
ing match?    Had  his  boys  no  sense? 

While  wondering  what  to  do,  Mandy  raised  her 
dark  eyes  from  her  knitting  and  said: 

*'Mr.  Bivings,  do  you  know  the  Pooi*valls?" 

Dan  came  very  near  saying,  '^  Plague  take  the 
Pun^alls,"  but  checked  himself  in  time,  while  in- 
wardly boiling  over  the  situation  and  the  ques- 
tion. Meantime  his  discomfort  was  increased  by 
hearing  Robinson  and  his  gosling  sons  snickering 
inside  the  room.  What  in  the  name  of  all  the  Biv- 
ings in  South  Carolina  was  that  lazy,  good-for- 
nothing  Joe  Robinson  and  his  two  long  legged 
boys  laughing  about? 


The  Two  Cronies  235 

Mandy  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  speaking 
again,  when  Billy  came  riding  up,  and  Dan  went 
away. 


Ill 

A  GREAT  SURPRISE 

The  camp  hunt  was  over,  and  the  hunters  scat- 
tered to  their  different  homes  loaded  with  the 
spoils  of  the  chase. 

Billy  concluded  to  return  on  the  western  bank 
of  the  Yazoo  in  order  to  see  a  friend,  while  Dan 
crossed  a  river  ferry  and  came  homeward  on  a 
more  direct  route.  He  was  in  a  tremor  to  see 
Mandy.  He  felt  that  he  could  not  go  to  his  own 
cabin  until  he  had  beheld  his  charmer  of  the  spin- 
ning wheel,  and  red  calico  dress.  So  skirting  the 
fields  to  keep  his  mother  from  seeing  him,  and 
taking  a  circuitous  course  through  the  woods,  he 
came  up  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Robinson 
home.  lie  had  a  gunny  sack  well  filled  with  game, 
a  goodly  portion  being  for  Mandy.  According  to 
previous  design  he  had  a  piece  of  bear  meat,  a 
venison  ham,  and  a  duck;  the  last  being  a  final 
happy  thought.    He  intended  watching  her  face 


236  The  Two  Cronies 

closely  when  the  gifts  were  presented,  and  if  she 
did  not  soften  when  he  offered  the  venison  with 
the  word  deer  softly  and  significantly  pronounced, 
he  would  then  pull  out  the  fowl  and  ask  her  to  be 
his  duck. 

As  he  rode  up  toward  the  dwelling  his  mind 
filled  with  these  thrilling  delicious  thoughts,  he 
was  astonished  to  find  it  silent  and  desolate.  The 
yard  partook  of  the  solitariness  of  the  building, 
not  a  sign  of  life  being  seen  anywhere.  The  whole 
place  was  as  if  stripped  by  a  cyclone. 

Hitching  January  at  the  fence,  Dan  walked  up 
the  yard,  through  the  open  door  into  the  empty 
house.  Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen.  Not  a  stick  of 
furniture  was  left.  The  very  floor  had  been  swept 
clean.  Walking  out  to  the  front  gallery  the  eye 
noticed  that  the  strings  of  red  pepper,  fishing 
poles,  yellow  gourd,  and  bucket  were  all  gone. 

With  a  sickening  sensation,  Dan  sat  down  on 
the  steps  and  wondered  what  made  the  world  look 
so  empty.  A  blue  jay  was  screaming  in  the  woods 
in  front,  and  a  woodpecker  was  solemnly  tapping 
on  the  dead  limb  of  a  large  tree  near  by.  It 
seemed  to  Dan  that  the  jay  was  crying  out, 
^'Mandy,"  ''Mandy,"  while  tlie  woodpecker  was 
driving  nails  in  a  coffin  up  in  the  air.  The  man 
sat  wondering  and  heartsick  nearly  an  hour  on 
the  steps  of  the  forsaken  home,  when  Billy  Buf- 


The  Two  Cronies  237 


fington  suddenly  appeared  on  his  gray  in  the  road. 

''Hello,  the  house,"  he  cried  as  he  reached  the 
gate. 

''Light,"  said  Dan. 

"Where  is  your  wife  and  family?" 

"Gone  a  visitin',"  replied  Dan  with  a  face  so 
solemn  that  Billy  at  once  changed  his  bantering 
tone. 

"Where's  the  folks,"  he  asked,  coming  up  the 
walk. 

"Dunno,"  answered  Dan,  with  a  squirt  of  to- 
bacco. 

"Well,  well,  well,"  ejaculated  Billy,  as  he 
walked  through  the  silent  yard,  up  on  the  empty 
porch,  peeped  into  the  vacant  rooms,  and  finally 
took  his  seat  on  the  wash  shelf. 

"What  does  all  this  mean,  Dan?  Where  is 
Mandy  and  all  the  rest?" 

"How  do  I  know?  I  found  the  house  empty 
like  you  see  it." 

Billy  gave  a  long,  low  whistle,  worked  his  lips 
a  moment,  and  sent  a  wind  ball  toward  the  yard. 

Dan  gave  a  squashing  sound. 

Billy  sent  another  bullet  into  the  air. 

At  this  juncture,  IMajor  Ellerton,  who  was  rid- 
ing by,  stopped  at  the  gate  and  asked  them  with 
a  laugh  and  a  sly  look  if  they  were  examining  the 
premises  with  a  view  of  renting. 


238  The  Two  Cronies 

The  Cronies  were  too  low  spirited  to  return  the 
Major's  jocular  remark.  They,  however,  ad- 
vanced to  him,  and  leaning  on  the  fence,  were  soon 
put  in  possession  of  the  following  facts,  Billy, 
meanwhile,  shooting  many  a  minnie  ball  as  the 
story  proceeded,  and  Dan  going  through  his  three 
tobacco  sounds  not  less  than  a  dozen  times. 

It  seemed  that  the  girl  had  been  engaged  all  the 
time  to  a  man  named  Purvall,  a  young  farmer  liv- 
ing on  Big  Black.  Pui^all  had  promised  his 
father  on  his  death  bed  that  he  would  not  marry 
while  his  mother  was  living.  The  mother,  quite 
an  invalid,  and  demanding  much  of  the  son's  at- 
tention, had  suddenly  died  a  week  before  and  the 
young  man  had  come  down  for  his  betrothed  im- 
mediately after  the  funeral.  Mr.  Robinson  had 
found  another  tenant  on  Major  Ellerton's  place, 
who  consented  to  take  his  crop  and  lease  off  his 
band,  and  the  whole  family  had  packed  up  and 
gone  away  with  Purvall,  only  stopping  in  Yazoo 
City  long  enough  to  get  married,  and  by  this  time 
had  been  in  their  home  on  Big  Black  fully  two 
days. 

At  the  end  of  the  recital,  for  a  full  minute  no 
sound  was  heard,  but  the  shooting  of  minnie  balls 
by  Billy,  and  a  sound  from  Dan,  which  might  well 
have  stood  for  the  gushing  of  blood.  Buffington 
stood  looking  at  the  waves  of  Clear  Lake,  which 


The  Two  Cronies  239 

could  be  seen  across  the  field,  and  Dan  had  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  swamp.  The  men  were  evidently 
so  deeply  hurt,  that  Major  Ellerton,  who  was  a 
man  of  real  delicacy  of  feeling,  as  well  as  kind- 
ness of  heart,  considerately  rode  away,  with  a 
pleasant  smile  and  a  cordial  good-bye. 

After  a  while  Billy  said: 

''Sold." 

''You  bet,"  was  Dan's  solemn  reply. 

' '  I  see  now, ' '  added  Billy,  ' '  what  she  meant  by 
always  asking  us  if  we  knew  the  Purvalls." 

"Uh-hunh,"  grunted  Dan. 

"Mercy  on  me,  where 's  the  fool-killer?  I'm 
ready  for  him,"  groaned  Billy,  letting  three  min- 
nie  balls  fly  in  rapid  succession. 

Dan  only  pitchooed  in  reply. 

"To  think,"  continued  Billy,  "of  a  Buffington 
going  down  before  a  Robinson.  Of  a  man  who 
fought  under  Bob  Lee,  flanked  and  outgeneraled 
by  a  girl  in  calico,  hailing  from  the  piney  woods." 

"I'm  sorry  for  Purvall,"  broke  in  Dan,  looking 
up  at  the  woodpecker,  who  was  still  at  work  on 
the  aerial  coffin. 

"Yes,  sir,"  put  in  Billy;  "and  so  am  T.  She 
will  fool  him  yet,  just  like  she  did  — well— I  Gan- 
ny!  Purvall  will  yet  call  himself  Poorvall  before 
that  girl  is  done  with  him." 

After  some  more  unburdening  of  heart  loads 


240  The  Tico  Cronies 

by  way  of  speeeli,  air  balls  and  expectoration  in 
general,  the  two  Cronies  parted,  taking  different 
directions  toward  their  homes. 

Now,  some  men  under  similar  circumstances  of 
disappointed  love  have  been  known  to  commit 
suicide,  others  to  leave  the  country  forever,  and 
still  others  have  taken  to  morphine  or  the  whisky 
bottle;  but  let  the  reader  note  how  different  was 
the  conduct  of  our  two  heroes  from  all  such;  and 
yet  also  how  dissimilarly  they  acted  from  each 
other. 

Billy  went  on  a  bear  hunt  for  a  week,  and  came 
back  loaded  down  with  fresh  wild  meat.  He  had 
parted  with  a  good  deal  of  his  agony  in  the  woods. 
Every  time  he  shot  he  felt  better,  and  when  he 
finally  had  a  tussle  with  a  wounded  bear,  he  said 
that  he  worked  off  on  the  animal  some  of  the  bad 
feelings  which  had  gathered  against  Purvall,  so 
that  at  last  he  felt  he  could  return  home. 

Dan  went  to  Yazoo  City.  He  might  have  got- 
ten drunk  and  careered  around  his  neighborhood, 
like  a  wild  Indian,  but  instead  he  took  a  day's 
trip  to  the  county  seat.  It  is  true  that  the  visit 
ended  in  a  spree,  but  he  explained  afterwards 
that  he  did  not  so  intend.  His  idea  had  been  to 
meet  some  of  his  street  corner  tobacco  friends  and 
relieve  himself  conversationally  and  socially  of 
some  of  his  misery;  but  the  sight  of  a  number  of 


The  Two  Cronies  241 

stylishly  dressed  women  on  the  street  revived  the 
memory  of  Mandy,  and  before  he  knew  it,  he  had 
taken  a  half  dozen  drinks,  the  color  had  run  the 
entire  length  of  his  nose,  and  Dan,  in  high  feather, 
was  ready  for  home. 

He  found  the  faithful  Januarj^  in  the  dusty  lot 
among  the  jimson  weeds  and  dog  fennel.  He  next 
tied  with  unsteady  hands  on  the  back  of  his  saddle 
a  bundle  containing  fifteen  yards  of  calico  for  his 
mother.  Some  one  saw  him  five  minutes  later 
coming  up  Main  street,  and  turning  the  comer  of 
Jefferson,  with  his  beard  divided  on  his  shoulders, 
his  eyes  set,  his  nose  aflame,  January  rising  and 
falling  in  what  was  intended  to  be  a  gallop,  and 
the  entire  bolt  of  calico  streaming  in  the  wind  be- 
hind. Both  mule  and  rider  were  serenely  uncon- 
scious of  their  comet-like  appearance,  and  were 
last  seen  bearing  off  in  a  northeasterly  direction 
toward  Clear  Lake.  Fortunately  for  old  Mrs. 
Bivings,  the  tail  of  the  comet  was  at  last  gathered 
up ;  the  nucleus  in  the  shape  of  Dan  and  his  mule 
reaching  home  between  ten  and  eleven  o'clock. 
The  maternal  salutation  was: 

''Is  that  you,  Dan 'el?" 

**Yep,  mother." 

"Drunk  again,  I  reckon?"  was  the  rejoinder. 

Wliereupon,  taking  a  candle  she  held  it  high 
over  her  head  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway  and 


242  The  Two  Cronies 

inspected  her  belated  son.  The  nose  was  red  from 
end  to  end.  This  meant  that  the  bed  was  all  that 
was  needed,  and  so  to  bed  he  went,  and  in  five 
minutes  certain  stertorous  sounds  declared  that 
Dan  had  forgotten  all  his  sorrows.  Meanwhile 
the  mother  before  the  fireplace  examined  and 
brushed  the  tail  of  one  comet  at  least,  which  had 
come  so  nigh  the  world  as  to  bear  off  with  it  a 
great  quantity  of  mud. 

It  was  fully  two  weeks  before  Dan  and  Billy  felt 
able  to  meet  each  other.  There  was  not  only  the 
pain  of  past  associations  and  memories,  but  the 
fact  that  each  had  tried  to  get  ahead  of  the  other 
in  winning  the  hand  and  heart  of  the  damsel, 
caused  some  emban'assing  anticipations  at  the 
verj^  thought  of  the  other's  presence. 

This  state  of  things,  however,  was  a  benediction 
to  their  crops;  for  what  was  left  of  the  pangs  of 
disappointed  love,  Dan  endeavored  to  work  off  in 
his  furrows,  and  Billy  did  the  same,  with  the 
added  help  of  shooting  ducks  in  the  morning  and 
squirrels  in  the  afternoon.  But  the  old  friendship 
was  too  strong  for  a  long  separation,  and  so  at 
last  Billy  received  a  message  from  Dan  to  ^  *  Come 
and  see  him  and  bring  his  dinner  along."  This 
was  the  very  height  of  a  cordial  invitation,  and 
in  due  time  Billy  arrived.  For  the  first  few  min- 
utes there  was  naturally  a  little  stiffness  and 


Tlie  Two  Cronies  243 

awkwardness,  with  some  facial  perfonnanees  not 
put  down  in  books  of  oraton%  rhetoric  and  the 
like;  but  after  Billy  had  shot  five  or  six  minnie 
balls  and  Dan  had  gone  through  his  tobacco 
sounds  twice,  and  said  "Yep,"  "Yah,"  "You 
bet"  and  "Shore,"  the  two  human  streams  came 
together  again  and  flowed  on  amicably  as  of  yore. 
They  even  attempted  a  little  guying  of  each  other, 
as  follows: 

' '  Dan,  what  made  you  ever  imagine  that  Mandy 
loved  you?" 

"For  the  same  reason,"  fired  back  Dan,  "that 
you  fancied  she  loved  you." 

"She  never  cared  for  you  like  she  did  for  me, 
Dan.  Slie  had  a  different  feeling  for  me  than  she 
did  for  you." 

"Yep,"  replied  Dan,  "and  she  had  a  different 
feeling  for  Purvall,  it  seems,  than  she  had  for 
you. ' ' 

Billy  winced  under  this  retort,  but  went  on: 

"This  affair  has  greatly  softened  my  nature. 
It  is  making  a  man  out  of  me.  It  is  really  a  golden 
sorrow  to  me." 

"I  don't  see  either  gold,  silver,  or  bank  notes 
in  it  myself,"  was  Dan's  dry  rejoinder. 

"Dan,"  returned  Billy,  "I  see  there  is  nothing 
of  the  poetic  or  the  sentimental  about  you.  I  was 
speaking  figuratively  of  course.    The  Buffingtons 


244  The  Two  Cronies 

of  Virginia,  were  people  of  a  cultured  and  poetic 
nature. ' ' 

"I'll  stake,"  broke  in  Dan,  ''the  Bivings  of 
South  Carolina,  against  the  whole  world  for  the 
high  bred  and  correct  thing  in  all  matters. ' ' 

''The  fact  is,"  said  Billy,  paying  no  attention 
to  Dan,  "I  have  inherited  a  great  deal  of  the  Buf- 
fington's  taste  and  ability  for  poetry.  Did  I  ever 
tell  you  about  my  writing  some  sonnets  and  odes 
for  the  papers  I ' ' 

"Dunno  that  you  did,"  answered  Dan  with  a 
bored  look. 

""Well,  I  did,  and  this  sorrow  has  revived  my 
dormant  gifts  and  I  have  begun  a  poem  called 
' '  Lines  to  Mandy. ' '  I  have  written  one  verse  al- 
ready, and  expect  to  write  three  more  with  a  re- 
frain to  each  verse." 

"If  T  were  you,"  replied  Dan,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  "I  would  make  the  whole  thing  a  re- 
frain." 

"Now,  look  here,  Dan  Bivings,  if  you  intend 
that  for  a  joke,  I  hope  Heaven  will  forgive  you, 
for  I  can't;  the  thing  is  too  poor  to  live,  much 
less  to  forgive.  But  would  you  really  like  to  hear 
what  I  have  written?" 

"Shore,"  returned  Dan,  taking  a  big  bite  off 
his  tobacco  plug  in  order  to  fortify  himself. 

Billy  solemnly  removed  a  leathern  wallet  from 


The  Two  Cronies  245 

his  inside  pocket  and  with  careful  hands  extracted 
a  sheet  of  letter  paper  which,  as  he  unfolded,  re- 
vealed the  caption  and  a  solitary  stanza  near  the 
top.  Billy  sat  down  on  a  stump,  and  after  firing 
a  few  minnie  balls  into  space,  proceeded  to  read 
with  proper  melodramatic  voice  the  following 
lines,  with  Dan  looking  over  his  shoulder: 

LINES  TO  MANDY  ROBINSON 

The  partridge  whistles  for  its  mate, 
The  lonely  dove  mourns  from  the  pine, 

The  black  bird 
And  Mandy  Rob  'son  is  not  mine. 

''Why  don't  you  end  that  third  line?"  asked 
Dan. 

''Well"  replied  Billy,  scratching  the  back  of 
his  head  so  as  to  tilt  his  hat  over  his  forehead,  "I 
can 't  find  a  rhyme  for  mate.  There  is  plate,  skate, 
grate,  late,  and  fate,  but  none  of  them  will  do.  I 
stayed  awake  half  a  night  trying  to  fix  up  that 
third  line,  but  it's  a  goner.  It's  no  use  going  to 
the  second  verse  till  I  get  this  one  fixed  up." 

"Can't  you  make  the  black  bird  line  end  with 
sitting  on  the  gate?"  suggested  Dan,  sympatheti- 
callv. 


246  The  Two  Cronies 

''No;"  replied  Billy,  "there  would  be  no  sense 
or  appropriateness  in  that." 

Dan  sent  about  a  gill  of  ambia  to  the  ground, 
wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and 
said  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  solved  a  great 
problem : 
•     "Change  your  bird." 

* '  Oh,  that  won 't  do, ' '  snapped  Billy.  ' '  There 's 
nothing  the  matter  with  the  black  bird;  it's  an 
appropriate  rhyme  to  mate  I  want  and  can't  get. 
I  tried  a  half  night,  T  tell  you,  and  it  won't  come." 

"Yep,  I  see,"  returned  Dan.  "But  it  won't  do 
to  leave  the  thing  like  it  is,  for  it  reads  now  that 
'The  black  bird  and  Mandy  Rob 'son  is  not  mine,' 
that  is  that  two  things  don't  belong  to  you,  Mandy 
and  the  black  bird." 

' '  Well, ' '  answered  Billy  weariedly,  "  it 's  got  to 
stay  that  way  until  I  get  a  rhyme  for  mate  that 
will  meet  the  demands  of  the  poem." 

Dan  still  continued  to  look  over  Billy's  shoulder 
at  the  embryo  poem  with  an  occasional  "pitchoo" 
in  the  air.    Finally  he  spoke : 

"Billy,  what  makes  you  cut  up  Mandy 's  last 
name  that  way  and  call  it  Rob 'son?" 

"That,"  replied  Billy,  "is  to  put  the  regular 
number  of  feet  in  the  last  line.  I  studied  that  kind 
of  thing  the  year  I  was  in  college." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  take  some  of  your  extry 


The  Two  Cronies  247 

feet  out  of  your  last  line  and  put  'em  in  the  third 
line  with  the  black  bird?" 

*'Dan  Bivings,"  interjected  Billy,  "you  know 
as  much  about  poetry  as  a  woodpecker  does  about 
the  Fourth  of  July." 

Whereupon,  taking  the  precious  manuscript 
and,  returning  it  tenderly  to  the  leathern  wallet, 
and  that  receptacle  to  his  pocket,  he  made  a  min- 
nie  ball,  fired  it  into  the  air  and  stood  with  folded 
arms  looking  in  a  meditative  way  at  a  distant 
gleaming  vision  of  Clear  Lake. 


248  The  Two  Cronies 

IV 
MORE  SURPRISES  AND  THE  END 

A  couple  of  weeks  later  the  Cronies  met  again. 
With  a  fortnight's  flight  of  time  they  had  soft- 
ened still  more,  and  felt  kindlier  to  Mandy  and 
even  peaceably  to  Purvall;  anyhow  they  thought 
so. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  recollection,"  said  Billy.  ''A 
picture  to  hang  upon  the  walls- of  memory." 

"A  sockdologer, "  said  Dan. 

*'I'm  glad  I  ever  met  her,"  continued  Billy. 

'*Me,  too,"  replied  Dan. 

* '  She  was  a  fine  girl, ' '  Billy  went  on, '  *  consider- 
ing her  station  in  life." 

' '  Yep, ' '  said  Dan ; ' '  a  sweet  creature. '  * 

*'I  can't  for  my  life  see  how  you  ever  got  it  into 
your  head  that  she  loved  you,  Dan." 

''Well,  if  you  will  force  me  to  explain,  I  will 
say  this,  that  whenever  I  was  there  she  could 
never  take  her  eyes  off  me.  A  man  would  be  a 
fool  not  to  see  something  in  conduct  like  this." 

"Why,  Dan,"  said  Billy,  bursting  into  a  big 
laugh,  "do  you  know  what  she  told  me  about 
that  ?  She  said  that  your  nose  literally  fascinated 
her.  That  she  never  saw  a  nose  in  all  her  life  that 
interested  her  as  much.    She  said  sometimes  it 


The  Two  Cronies  249 

made  her  laugh,  and  then  again  she  felt  sad,  for 
it  reminded  her  of  the  sunset.  She  said  your 
beard  stood  for  the  clouds  and  your  nose  for  the 
setting  sun." 

''Did  she  say  that?"  broke  in  Dan  with  an 
angry  ' '  pitchoo. ' ' 

"She  did,  or  Bob  Lee  was  no  general.  Do  you 
remember  the  day  she  whispered  something  to 
me  by  the  water  shelf?  Well,  that  was  it.  I 
Ganny,  it  is  so." 

**Well,  dad  fetch  her  Hoosier  hide  of  her.  I 
hope  Purv^all  will  live  to  beat  the  life  out  of  her." 

For  several  minutes  after  this  stormy  declara- 
tion Dan  did  nothing  but  fume,  blow,  squirt,  pit- 
choo, and  talk  about  the  lightning  striking  tar 
heels  and  tallow  faces. 

''Don't  take  it  so  hard,  Dan,"  said  Billy,  con- 
solingly. "Don't  take  it  so  hard.  You  ought  to 
be  glad  that  you  furnished  some  entertainment 
to  her." 

Dan  said  nothing  to  this  as  he  slowly  ruminated 
on  his  weed.  Suddenly  a  light  flashed  into  his 
eyes. 

"Look  here,  Billy,  what  make  you  think  she 
cared  for  you?  Now,  honest  Injun.  Tell  the  truth 
and  shame  the  devil.    Own  up,  as  I  did." 

"Well,"  answered  Billy,  after  firing  a  couple 
of  minnie  balls,  "I  judged  it  from  several  things. 


250  The  Two  Cronies  . 

but  mainly  from  the  fact  that  whenever  I  would 
leave  her  she  would  follow  me  with  her  eyes,  and 
even  come  after  me  across  the  room,  upon  the  gal- 
lery, and  into  the  yard.  It  was  at  first  a  little 
embarrassing,  but  finally  became  pleasant." 

At  this  Dan  fairly  fell  over  against  the  fence 
where  they  were  talking  while  his  whoops  sent  a 
rabbit  flying  out  of  a  clump  of  bushes  to  the 
woods.  Billy's  eyes  contracted  and  expanded,  and 
at  last  with  considerable  dignity  he  demanded  an 
explanation. 

' '  Wait, ' '  said  Dan, ' '  till  I  get  my  breath.  Well, 
ha!— ha  I— ha!— How  will  I  ever  get  it  out— Billy, 
old  boy,  she  told  me  she  wouldn't  miss  seeing  you 
pucker  your  mouth  and  shoot  your  air  bullets  for 
pay.  She  said  a  circus  with  a  clown  and  monkey 
all  throw 'd  in  wasn't  equal  to  you  with  your 
mouth  draw'd  up  to  shoot  and  one  of  your  eyes 
squinted  as  if  you  was  taking  aim  at  something." 

This  was  the  longest  speech  that  Dan  had  ever 
been  known  to  make,  and  it  was  certainly  effect- 
ive. Billy's  eyes  looked  like  he  had  borrowed  a 
pair  of  Saturn's  rings. 

*^Dan  Bivings,  do  you  solemnly  swear  that  she 
said  that?" 

''May  I  drop  dead  in  my  tracks,  if  she  didn't." 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  the  men,  in 
which  Billy  fired  more  minnie  balls  to  the  minute 


The  Two  Cronies  251 


than  he  had  even  been  known  to  do  before.  It 
seemed  also  from  the  force  with  which  they  were 
projected,  that  he  was  aiming  at  somebody  on 
Big  Black. 

Finally  he  turned  to  Dan,  with  withering  sar- 
casm in  his  voice,  and  said: 

**She  was  far  below  our  station." 

** Shore,"  replied  Dan. 

"Nothing  but  a  giggling  ignoramus,"  added 
Billy. 

* 'Tallow  faced  at  that,"  said  Dan. 

"She  was  a  whining,  drawling  Tar-heel,"  pur- 
sued Billy  hotly. 

"A  back-woods  hussy,"  said  Dan. 

"I'm  glad  Purv^all  got  her,"  snapped  Billy. 

"Me,  too,"  said  Dan. 

Then  followed  a  duel  between  the  two  men  of 
minnie  ball  firing  and  the  blood  gushing  sound. 
At  last,  with  a  look  upon  his  face  as  if  he  was 
settling  the  most  important  of  matters,  Billy  said: 

"If  I  had  married  her  the  Buffingtons  of  Vir- 
ginia would  never  have  lifted  up  their  heads 
again." 

"The  Bivings,  of  South  Carolina,—  "  com- 
menced Dan. 

"I  am  certainly  sorr}'  for  Pun^ill,"  inteii^osed 
Billv. 


252  The  Two  Cronies 


''Me,  too/'  said  Dan. 

The  Cronies  walked  on  together  down  the  road 
after  these  fierce  speeches,  and  stopped  involun- 
tarily before  the  empty  Robinson  cabin  which 
fronted  the  bayou  and  swamp.  The  evening  was 
coming  on.  A  few  locusts  were  at  their  drowsy 
song  in  the  trees  as  if  sorrowing  over  the  absence 
of  Mandy,  and  the  house  and  yard  looked  dark 
and  desolate. 

The  men  stood  gazing  silently  for  a  few  min- 
utes at  the  empty  nest  whose  song  bird  had  flown, 
and  then  with  a  parting  grasp  of  the  hand,  they 
separated.  Both  turned  their  faces  homeward, 
and  both  in  spite  of  their  defiant  words,  were 
weak  and  sick  at  heart  for  a  sing-song  voiced 
country  girl  in  red  calico,  who  that  very  instant 
was  supremely  happy  on  Big  Black  with  Tom 
Purvall,  another  man. 

Dan  sat  in  front  of  his  humble  home  which 
looked  upon  the  woods,  and  listened  until  long 
after  nightfall  to  the  melancholy  chanting  of  the 
frogs  in  the  willow  lined  marsh.  His  late  conver- 
sation with  Billy  had  revived  the  partially  buried 
past,  and  torn  apart  the  wound  that  had  begun  to 
heal.  He  refused  the  supper  to  which  he  was  re- 
peatedly summoned  by  his  mother,  and  remained 
silent  in  the  dark.  The  only  sound  coming  through 
the  open  door  to  the  waiting  woman  was  the  soft 


The  Two  Cronies  253 

rustling  of  the  com  which  grew  close  to  the  cabin, 
or  the  '  *  pitchoo ' '  of  her  grieving  son  which  came 
as  regularly  out  of  the  night  shadows  as  if  timed 
by  a  watch. 

Billy  also  stationed  himself  by  his  cabin  door  and 
pensively  contemplated  Clear  Lake  as  it  lay  quiet 
and  beautiful  before  him.  He  saw  it  crimson  in  the 
sunset,  then  pale  and  darken  as  his  hopes  had  done, 
while  the  forest  on  the  opposite  side  became  gloomy 
and  spectral  and  sighed  as  though  in  pain.  But 
still  the  man  sat  with  his  chin  resting  on  his  hand 
as  he  gazed  upon  the  glimmering  sheet  of  water. 

By  and  by  the  owls  began  their  usual  night 
concert  across  the  lake.  One  was  particularly 
vociferous  as  he  called  out.  according  to  the  negro 
translation: 

*'I  cooks  for  myself, 
Who  cooks  for  you  all?" 

'^Why,"  laughed  Billy,  ''that  is  poetry.  Any- 
how it  is  part  of  a  verse  and  I'll  finish  it  for  him 
the  next  time  he  says  it." 

In  another  minute  from  across  the  lake  came 
the  owl  hoot: 

''I  cooks  for  myself. 
Who  cooks  for  you  all!" 


254  The  Two  Cronies 

Billy  sprang  to  his  feet  and  putting  his  hands  to 
his  mouth  like  a  trumpet,  he  shouted  back: 

''I  cooks  for  myself, 
And  Mandy  for  Purvall. ' ' 

The  cry  echoed  back  from  the  other  side,  and 
went  reverberating  up  the  dark  wooded  shore 
with  faint,  and  fainter  repetitions,  "Mandy  for 
Pun^all,"  "Mandy  for  Purvall,"  until  at  a  distant 
bend  of  the  lake  it  could  just  be  heard,  "Mandy 
for  Purvall,"— and  then  all  was  still. 

The  owl  was  silenced,  but  so  was  his  inteiTUp- 
ter.  The  momentary  fun  was  all  gone  out  of 
Billy,  and  sitting  down  on  a  wooden  bench  before 
his  lonely  cabin,  he,  the  strong  man  who  boasted 
of  the  Buffington  family  pride  and  said  he  was 
glad  Purvall  had  the  girl  he  loved,  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands  and  wept  great,  bitter,  scalding  tears 
in  the  starlight. 


^liiliil 


